When fog comes
It always creeps
As if embarrassed by itself
Or shamed to show its face
Its slithering grin
Seeks to charm
But how can one
Make friends with fog?
It wraps grey folds
To embrace and warm
But light leeched
Grows cold and weak
Seeped in sepia tones
Life bland, tasteless
No salt strong enough
Flavour to ignite
A bully, fog pushes
Into me
Friendships strained by distance
Not of place but silence
Kissed by fogs vampiric kiss
I gaze with vacant stare
And thoughts disjointed
Aborted while they form
Die in muted horror
Encased in fog’s sepulcher
Wrapped in its misty shroud
Resting in its sarcophagus
I wait for resurrection
For life to roll away the stone
Yet perhaps while I wait
It may be feasible
Or at least possible
To unwrap my misty shroud

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