The Mist

Posted by Brad Osborne on September 11, 2019 · 8 Comments 

Is it cloud that falls so gently

When mountain top is kissed

Or does it rise from the valley

This cold and haunting mist

All pale shapes and grey shadows now

Sight rendered all but blind

Like whiskey drunk too fast somehow

A fogging of the mind

Unknown fears in every crease

The fears of never knowing

My will cannot command you cease

And keep my fears from growing

Being trapped in ghostly blanket

Suffered your icy chill

Yea sun would come I’d thank it

And temper failing will

If but scant rays could break rampart

And glimmer added hue

A warmth to spirit and to heart

Gained strength to see this through

Should graced light fail and hope abide

My journey will not stop

All my fears must be put aside

If goal the mountain top

So, taunt me now you evil mist

You cruel, sadistic haze

Battle you, my will exist

Earning my brighter days

Set upon me your eerie wrath

You may have chosen me

But I the chooser of my path

Will choose my destiny

Filed under Poetry · Tagged with choices, choosing your path, destiny, fate, fear, fog, lessons learned, life, mist, perception, poem, Poetry, strict form poetry, unknown