Lost In the Mist
LOST IN THE MIST
Grey fingers soft as a pickpocket’s,
Soundless and sightless, have taken the sun -
Poacher in the kingdom of the blind.
Guests and ghosts of the realm steal in and out,
Cozened into thinking that
Feet pressed to the ground -
Ensure the lost land will be restored,
The theft of the sun will be recouped.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Written 21st August 2014 by Sydney Peck
For contest THROUGH THE MIST
Copyright © Sidney Beck | Year Posted 2014
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