Fog of loss;

That tunnel seemed so dark    
the curved ball stoped you in your tracks
   
Quicksand being where the ground was easily tread
 any chinks of light in that dim place;
    
The candle flickers but won't be doused
small steps of faith come as increments of closure now
    
The die that is cast of inconsolable malaise    
times steadies the hand to find the dawn again
    
To lift a spirit from its cellar dwelling    
the full of disconnected question marks
    
You somehow brave the incline to the top    
and having scaled the blackness stood aloft
    
The compass point with its point so bright    
draws you through eclipse to that resting place
 
# Pablo Neruda