Fog In the City

The vibrant colours of a Venice day Are muted now, and drained to sombre grey, As huddled shades of countless long past years, Sharing their tears and ever constant fears, Silent, intangible, diffused, now roam, In tones of dank, primeval monochrome. Sweet Melancholy breathes her mawkish air As stony faces add their baleful stare, Sightless, yet knowing well within their core The days of pageant, and the grief, of yore. These shifting nearly-souls of latter day In sorrow, and against their will, they stay. As pigeons bleakly view the scene below, The church bells, softly stifled, peal, as though In cotton wool. Canal sounds harmonise, And gently rhythmic solace therein lies, Easing the pain of those the city shuns, Her unseen, phantom, long-forgotten sons.