The Fog

A suspended mirrage,
unending and without shape,
lingering in the sky like smoke,

It whispers with it's misty eyes,
it's dampness on my skin,

though its existance poses a hazard,
white walls that conceal and hide,

when you are wrapped around me,
I feel a peace inside.





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback