The Mist

~ From Through the Trees, Chapter 1: Denial

Going down a lone dirt path,

It winds and twists through the valley

Swarmed in vines tangled in wrath

Clinging to earth feverishly and madly.

The mist stretches down the mountain’s side

Into the vale it hangs heavy down below.

In the haze, I am able to run and hide,

Left alone to distress and throe.

On this aimless path I wander,

The morning’s mist full of gloom.

I walk all alone so quiet and somber

The air is scented of Spanish Broom.

The mist is heavy and fills my chest,

I can’t breathe its humidity and I gasp.

To my knees I fall and I lay to rest.

My breath is stifled and filled with rasp.

Bogged down by the mist’s weight,

I drown in nothing more than heavy air.

Lying on a dirt path I accept my fate,

I am enveloped fully in its snare.

On this unmarked path I will not be found.

It seems the fog will forever persist,

And to this path I am eternally bound,

Fatefully indentured to the mist.

Copyright © Nina C. Palmer 2014. All rights reserved