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
Copyright © Angela Tune | Year Posted 2022
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