The fog is there as soon as one gets up
in the morning.
It hits as soon as the blinds open,
wiping away the innocent feelings of sleep.
Gray, damp, lingering
A sheet of feeling that hides other,
The fog lifts as the day goes by,
hidden beneath the sun of distractions,
but it always comes back in the mornings.
Optimism is scarce in the fog of guilt.
Disclaimer: I don't actually feel guilty about anything...I merely thought of guilt when I thought of fog, and, voila, there's the poem...I guess I could of thought of allergies, but that would have lead me to writing about Claritin Clear, so no-go...