The Fog
It's like a mysterious creature,
Crawling upon the earth like a cautious cat.
It hides the ground beneath itself,
Like a treasure meant for no human eyes to see.
This mysterious creature-like mist creeps into the world as we sleep,
Then is there when we awake swirling in clouds of white.
It's like a spirit.
This ghost is everywhere there is nature.
The creature cries over the earth at night,
Leaving it's tears of mourning on the grass for us to walk through in the
morning.
Washing your feet in it's sorrow.
It leaves silently and mysteriously.
No one sees it leave or come.
It just is,
And always be,
A spirit of the night,
A creature made of fog.
A contest entry
- Quality by Rhythm Child.
400 points, ended October 9, 22 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What did you think
Comments
-
What lovely thoughts, what vivid portrayal and such lovely aptly strung words.You are a delight to read and your words are like ambrosia to waning imagination.Thanks for sharing, take care.Congrats on the bronze well deserved...
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