The Mist

As night fell upon the blustery bay waves did crash, winds did sway She saw a box, within the sand Wooden, old and looking grand Scooped it up, popped in her bag Scurried right home to Murrayflag Murrayflag flats, her warm abode Ran up those stairs, shook off the cold The damp dank box seemed to ache Ache from splinters, old paint flake Brass shutter wedged, so hard to prise Upon opening was there much inside? On this dark dark night no light to see Her room, mild glow of lamp or three Into the room a whoosh and a whirl A deep dark mist did swirl and swirl With fear and excitement she stared and stared What had unleashed, from wooden mired With a boom and a flash the black mist cocooned Then two white eyes zoomed and zoomed The lights went out, pure dark of night The room not so scary, she felt no fright Kind white eyes saying Thankyou for my freedom And bringing me home to right and reason As she smiled and let the mist hold her close A feeling of darkness she had known rose and rose White kind eyes then looked and did say My sweet, sweet girl I’m going to take this away I’m the mist of depression, I move it out I was locked away so the world would scream and shout But now I’m free, free to be Free to do my job of loving thee A Strand Poetry competition (1055) Sponsor Brian Strand 20th January 2022