Adrift, floating through the fogginess,
Watching the world move around the stillness.
It brakes and accelerates;
Detonations and rampages,
Waves of calm tempered with walls of distortion.
The crisis just beneath the surface.
Just out of reach,
a brush of fingertips against cloth.
The itch to spread near and far,
to set oneself afloat amongst the sea of possibilities.
Beset amongst a field of questions with no answers,
Released unto a world where you have nothing to ask.
The thrumming anxiety beneath the skin and veins,
the numbing realization of emptiness ahead.
It hones two edges, the bliss of the unknown,
the fear of not knowing.
Set adrift amongst the vast parades of knowledge,
with no one to guide you through.
The first step falters,
the helmsmen tilts the wheel,
an airman eases the throttle.
Each leading father into the fog, hoping to fid the treasure within.