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Poem

The fog is so thick I can not see the sticks, that in a wasted life,
rise off the dirty grave of the forest floor. 
There is no beauty that could compare to the sight
of the thick ground clouds, that embrace my morning. 
To run through the moisturous blanket into the unseen
and unknown would be a spectacular thrill. 
The cool droplet of water stroking my feet, as they are released from
the tall finger grasses. tickle me kindly. 
I chase the fog as its spread of mystery begins to rise
and confines back up into the sky. 
I reach for the heartbeat of the fog, hoping that surrounding my skin,
with its life, it would carry me away. 
I dance with it deeper into the dense woods, where it awakens the pine trees, 
with its wet breath. 
Higher and higher the fog rises.
I climb a welcoming oak tree,
stretching with its limbs grabbing for the clouds. 
Take me away my morning fog, I want to ride this elevator to the sky,
to the heavens, take me away. 
The fog disappaites and I am left with misty hands and empty eyes. 
I look around clearly, seeing the crispness of nature,
basking in all her beauty 
From the heights of this old oak tree,
I realize... I am lost. 


Vibrant Verse Contest
07/30/2014

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