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The Fog MAG
November 8, 2009
A boy sees a cemetery
And holds his breath,
Ghosts and fog forcing him
To their imagined will,
Threatening to haunt and kill
The poor passerby.
Time toils by
For some ten or twelve years
And figments that brought real tears
Are replaced by the ghosts of
Mortality and Dread.
Looking through the iron bars
So fatefully sealed in death,
The youth feels a burden on his breast,
A reminder of the path's end.
Finally, the passerby draws near
All his hopes, dreams, and fears.
Slowly, slowly pulled into the fog
With a strange token of peace.
© Alexis H., Douglasville, GA
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