I can share this with you because I still have, and recently rediscovered, the mimeographed literary magazine in which it was published during my high school years:
Fog, all around me,
sheltering me
from my world that was
torn asunder.
When will the sun shine again?
I can't see
through the fog,
Nor do I want to see
my world that was.
I look forward
to sunshine.
Upon what
will the sun shine?
What will I see
when it rises again?
What?
What new road
lies ahead,
shrouded now
by fog
which will
soon be revealed?
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