The fog hung thick about him.
So thick he could shove it aside.
It clung to him,
As young love clings to an even younger kiss.
An enduring memory, that in deed was all to brief.
It wrapped him in a sense deprived embrace.
Foreign arms in his all too familiar and fragile world.
Shaking the perilous cliff,
That his courage balanced upon.
He was suddenly assaulted,
By the smell of burnt pine and hemlock,
The sound of burnt and hacking screams,
The sound of a monster roaring... Consuming.
It's frame lit up the world around it,
And in the process forever darkening his.
He approached the long dead skeleton.
That once was his home,
The purpose he once had,
And the void that had replaced it.
The grey film soon broke.
The sun stretched down to bathe him in the clarity he had once known.
Reaching to help him.
But, the light was always reaching.
Trying to break through, dampened isolation.
The fog, perpetually inside him.
Dampening the fires that once brought meaning,
Embracing him... taking from him.
As it once took from him.
The fire of life that had once given him purpose and meaning,
Now just a smolder, continually dampened by the fog
Taken roost in his soul.
The fire of his life, his fate that had looked so bright,
Devoured by the worldly conflagration made
Now just a charred skeleton of what once had been.
He called to his daughter,
With the pain of cagastric ruin,
"Come on, time to go."
Now just a smolder of what once had been.
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