Fog painted landscapes; never ending in its majestic labyrinth within the depths of a concave soul.
Grey; void of true colour.
It neither is lacking light, nor truly bathed in the warmth of ultra violet radiation which darkens the skin with its worshiped kiss.
It is tantalizing, and a constant irritant which never ceases to remove itself from the psyche.
Always seemingly just out of the fingers reach-- stretched to its outer limits in avoidance.
Why?
Perhaps the prospects of Karma are far more accurate than ever given credit-- ridiculed for being the belief of the paranoid.
Clearly this could not be the works of paranoia--
this fog so thick one is forced in circles through the endless labyrinth of turmoil.
Circles which have been walked once before, and will be walked again no doubt--
Lost within the fog covered Labyrinth...
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