The thick fog rolling in settles over everything:
The things we know by heart,
And the mysteries that can pop up and give us a start;
It covers the good and the mad,
The pretty and the glad,
As well as all of us cloaked in misery;
Our pain cries through the fog,
To the sea,
To the sea.
December 28, 2008
Copyright © 2008, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.