I’ve lost my way
On a path of clarity.
Crystal clear from the beginning,
Fog has now rolled in.
In a soup of mist,
Only foot to pavement visible.
A path of shells crunches
Under my callous soles.
A wave of cool, refreshing saltwater
Envelopes my toes as shells turn to sand.
Waist deep, I now stand
I feel touched by a gentle hand.
As the fog lifts, the hand lifts.
Now alone, I’m adrift – no clarity.
Robert Stanhope started creative writing during his Junior year of high school. In his twenties, he became a motorsports journalist and was published in a number of local, regional, and national trade publications. Now in his early 40s, Bob has returned to creatively writing, including embarking on his first novel, The Last Lie.