the fog

a poem to those philosophers, who find the world complex and depressing

Alas sweet girl, I am too late

To save you from your monsters.

They've gathered all around the slate,

Upon which your mind now flounders.

How grieved I am to see you there,

Upon that cold stone tablet.

Shivering cold,alone and unaware,

Of the divine art that surrounds it.

For we stand in a garden of infinitely

too vast,too complex in design.

That non of us might ever see

Why the flowers and weeds intertwine.

But you dear girl so desired

to know the secrets of fruit and moss.

And while you quested and aspired,

Your eyes at last saw only chaos.

And from those eyes,once inspired so

Were born the specters of desire.

With skins so pale they casts no shadow

on that grey world to which they bind her.

until she's found by a glimpse of light

that slipped trough the veil of fiends.

will she see the world is a maze of sights,

Will she awake from that world of dreams.

Author's Note

inspired by a good friend, who is questioning the world so much, that she forgets to enjoy it.

Reviews

[J. J. Nightingale]

For we stand in a garden infinitely
Too vast,too complex in design
That none of us might ever see
Why the flowers and weeds intertwine ...

This is my favorite stanza ... J.

[J. J. Nightingale]

I like your writing style .. Remember to be taken seriously, one must check and recheck their words, before posting .. Type-O's tend to distract the reader ..
I think you have the talent to become a fine Poet .. You have thoughts worth sharing, and I for one enjoyed reading your Poetry ..

Jasmine

[samuel foxtrot]

thank you very much, I greatly appreciate you taking the time to read this. and I have taken your advice to heart....