By J. Randal Matheny © 2015

The world of sound and sight is dead to me,
I cannot hear, nor feel, nor smell, nor see,
The clouds descend to touch the muted ground,
Both smothering fog and finest rain surround.
Deprived of senses, have I returned to the womb?
Or is this gray cocoon an early tomb?
Does there exist some sunny world beyond?
If I call out, will someone there respond?
This weathered solitude leaves me in doubt,
Can I escape it by simply stepping out?
Or must I await a change of atmosphere,
To see the sun and get me out of here?

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