deepundergroundpoetry.com

The Fog

 

(1)
The tumbling stones
surrounded wombless porch
wobbly and apprehensive
oscillating
beneath my feet. 
I step off, 
in faded emerald fields 
wading through blades of grass 
softly grazing my skin
pure and nimble; 
persistent with immunity of loss.

(2)
Darkness, unfolded
lethargic and unimposed 
lingering
above the ground 

suspicious of quietude 
offerings
decay in mire.

Purling the air
in billowy clouds 
weighing 
like a pull of wreck 
in my lungs
stumbling in a symmetry 
of felicitous stream 
swelling of coverts
improvising.

(3)
In the embalmment 
of extraordinary in ordinary, 
keeping other wanderers down 
in formless fog
my vision flutters
pretending not to see 
the shadowless, featureless 
slithering 
mouth open, barely 
hissing from a practiced tongue.

Expecting tension, fury
a swift death; 
instead I saw apathetic resignation 
in its leer
luring pleasure, coiled 
tightening in embrace
eye to I
feeling the fear 
dissipate, in desolate 
surrendering to shallow breath 
trashing in trusted defense.

(4)
The absence of light
remained unchanged 
at the margin of daybreak 
the rill became thinner 
in repeated patterns 
imparting
scent of death 
reshaping with persistence 
for safer shadows.

(5)
I regret knowing what laid in the field.
There will always be the unknown
and
The wisdom of fright.
Layla
Written by Layla
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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