A Clouded Room

Within a clouded room

I steam.

Lost, figuratively, in whispers of water

The door is only the next mile away

The ceiling is infinite, be it that it can’t be seen

Maybe it is only over my head

Maybe I’m at the top and should be looking down

Maybe I should be looking for a way out

Of the clouded room

Until I was in I didn’t know what lost meant

I was never lost, not when I knew the directions I could go

North South

Good Bad

Right Wrong

And Maybe In Between

Now I chase a ghost’s tail

Trying to capture what emptiness feels like

I see nothing therefore nothing exists

Believe me when I say this sucks

I’m in a fog but deeper

I’m in a storm but less loud

A tornado caught forever in its eye

I am in a clouded room

Not knowing how

Perhaps the next step will take me home

Or perhaps it is the edge of the cloud

Either way I’ll get out

Either way I won’t be lost anymore

At home

Or on the ground.

By Don Bernal