The Fog Doth LieA Poem by WolfwindA myriad of myths, half marred upon the wind Tempered despair far flung with each idling gust Queries of frenzy numerous in simple surety The ground and its halos, forever out of reach A horizon once pondered, shaved and discarded The birth of old venues, frigid in a new sea’s froth Questions severed upon talismanic changes Breathing in, becoming a dime stores relic A chance woken in non-describable oaths Permeating and boiling, seething in the fog Perhaps nothing more than a joker’s flopping hat Yet not a cyclical as the planets daily grind An ethereal drifting log in rapid declining time Reverberating along a notion sung, in a hero’s time Never sleeping the tithe once requested in haste The chaste catalyst seeping like a flow of tempered gin Onward the touch so soft like sand papers skin Lashing outward, blossoming in a favored sweet taste Born again into a moment of mad ravings revealed An earmark of an idea, crafted by a curled hand Heightened flight for feathers of certain shades Greasing the momentum of the slight of mind To teach any but the rounded shard of ineptitude The world heaves a heavy sigh indeed © 2012 WolfwindFeatured Review
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4 Reviews Added on December 29, 2012 Last Updated on December 29, 2012 AuthorWolfwindCoupeville, WAAboutSometimes poet, always an artist, creator of colorful visions, dreamer, and a seeker of things not yet known. more..Writing
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