500 miles

You realize that you have been living in a haze.
Actually,
You already knew that.
You lose track of time,
Of how long you have been clutching at straws,
How many times you have wandered down the same road,
How many times you have felt that strange deja vu,
Of seeing the mile marker:
500 miles to freedom

Maybe it has been three years,
Or maybe seven!
The fog makes everything seem flat.
Grey oceans of thick,wet fog,
Rolling in ominously.
You walk in circles
And you see the mile marker
Again and again:
500 miles to paradise

You can't remember the last time you enjoyed doing something!
Solving a problem,
Creating art,
Working till your bones creaked,
Or your brain hurt.
All you can remember is grey.
A tuning fork humming steadily in the background,
An eternal note,
Echoing softly with clarity
In the fog,
As you stumble by the mile marker:
500 miles to life

You know you have walked thousands of miles.
Surely, this can't be right?
Despite the tired bones and the numb legs
You know you kept walking.
You never stopped.
Despite the nasty, cold, clammy mist against your cheek
Like dead fish,
You kept going.
Surely, "there" isn't that far?
But somehow you know,
As you trudge along, summoning all your energy,
As the mile marker comes up by the edge of the road,
Sitting innocently,
Barely visible through the fog,
You know it's going to say:
500 miles to home.