Writer’s Log: 1883 Fog
I found a bunch of poems and songs I’d written decades ago. I’ll post these here over a few days/weeks.
Fog
Where the sea meets the sand
humidity finds
its invisible status
has left it behind.
A chilling night air
bumps head to head
with a moist ocean breeze
and between them they shed
a mist.
A rolling white specter
so think it’s been dubbed
with an untouchable texture
an ethereal rub.
Fog is its title
confusion its wake,
leaving all standing idle
while the sun works to make
a fist…
To punch through this blanket
to tear it to shreds,
but remorse moves to thank it
for fog’s presence led…
Us to ponder our lives
and their continual rush
to question our pace
to instill a hush…
As fog’s dearest treasure
is silence and calm,
a noiseless deep pleasure
which soothes as a balm
our souls.