Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Winter Fog





Winter Fog

There is nothing like cold fog
Wrapping itself around me
Absorbing the warmth my heart had
Blurring my vision
Of endless bare skeleton limbs
The only thing moving in the fog
Is smoke gray on gray

Like a piano sonata conceived by
A deaf Beethoven the fog envelopes
Consciousness takes over the afternoon
With its own logic its mist eating
The light as its droplets grow into rain
The only thing lacking is a fire
A Hearth to hold it and desire akin to pain

Jack
2/1/11


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