Friday, May 18, 2012

Mist




Nothing is every clear,
Even when the fog lifts
It leaves a haze
Over these meadows
And me,
More dream than real
Me always scared of the unknown
The shadowy shapes
That leap out of nowhere
A shoulder that rattles
The reeds in the mists
The footfall that splashes
In pools I can not see
My own feel struggling
To find solid ground
One step this way or that
For every two I take
Searching the haze
For a familiar face
Finding only wraiths
With heavy chains
Dickens once shaped
With me an everyday scrooge
Struggling not to give
Myself away,
Scared of all ghosts
Past, present and future,
And to what end
They might lead
My life inscribed
In the fog
Destined only
To fade away.

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