His body had grown tired, waking to a daily chore

wanting only to be admired, not this brooding bore.

~

He would bed himself at night soak the linens in tear

wondering if ever she might understand his only fear.

~

Upon waking in the morning, the sunlight at his gaze

wouldn’t be long a yearning, scrambling in a maze

~

For it is when the fog will hold our deepest analogies

only to fashion a reaction bold, our proven fallacies.

~

The deeper he would dive to find the light of day

less again he’d feel alive, wishing only for yesterday.

~

There was a time I could love a foggy morning, the scenery

could create a magical fantasy, settling winds for you and me.

---

© Thom Amundsen 6/2021