The Mist

Posted by Brad Osborne on July 19, 2021 · 15 Comments 

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Is it cloud that falls so gently

When mountain top is kissed

Or does it rise from the valley

This cold and haunting mist

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All pale shapes and grey shadows now

Sight rendered all but blind

Like whiskey drunk too fast somehow

A fogging of the mind

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Unknown fears in every crease

The fears of never knowing

My will cannot command you cease

And keep my fears from growing

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Being trapped in ghostly blanket

Suffered your icy chill

Yea sun would come I’d thank it

And temper failing will

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If but scant rays could break rampart

And glimmer added hue

A warmth to spirit and to heart

Gained strength to see this through

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Should graced light fail and hope abide

My journey will not stop

All my fears must be put aside

If goal the mountain top

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So, taunt me now you evil mist

You cruel, sadistic haze

Battle you, my will exist

Earning my brighter days

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Set upon me your eerie wrath

You may have chosen me

But I the chooser of my path

Will choose my destiny

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