The mystical morning fog
... a soul trespassing nature
catching the eye of strangers
around the corner a rich weave
a glimpse of laces, colours
an unwoven dream cold, timid, shy.
The myriads of thoughts that crowd
a trained quintessential mind
stretch, exert, sweep, block, roll,
cracking its languor
piercing the hull of the day
the cold tip of an iceberg.
Smoldering in glee the night fire
its dew drenched desire
for sin search and warmth
moist-ragged dreams reap
the strength of a wanton boys cold naked feet
And a distant light announces hope.
Each with a purpose lost
through the lonely fog
rambling in their search..
though me with a discerning eye
hasped on a moments glance
as beautiful shapes emerged
to fade away to the moments mischance.
We meet to part and part to meet again.
~ A.
~ A.
