Dangers Mist

Once bright shapes now fastened and bound, may appear half naked, or wrecked, by the abandoning cloud

Or may be lost altogether in the blanketing shroud.

The occasional wreckage clings on through, cutting, like the ice white branches of the frost bitten tree

All that blood we wish hadn’t run free

But the pillow that smothers also protects, not like some wrought iron gate, proud and erect

But once the wound has been opened we cannot select, which long harboured fear will be realised next

And as we fall to the hard, unforgiving ground, We pray for no gaps in the fragile cloud.

So vulgar stone chimneys constantly spew, Their malodorous suffocating black night’s dew

We’re all now surrounded by a different foe, And we long for something pure, to whiten this dark snow

But our journey through the enveloping gloom, is fraught with every unknowable harm

To ourselves, and to those we are trying to save

As the key holders know often how to thwart the brave

And they will entomb us sealed, within a grave

Of merciless misunderstanding and cheap thrill wonder

And those perfect intentions will lie thus asunder

So we keep ourselves warmly hid, Behind our windows we close the lid

Allow the comforting, enveloping cloud, To gather us up in its blanketing shroud

Protect us all and keep us safe, Anaesthetise desire, calm all rage

But chastise not for cowardice, For vulnerability’s leap is so easily missed

And wishing not, to be broken upon the tracks, Nor suffer weight to break the strongest back

The blood once flowing now a half frozen stream, Barely cutting the ground, now closed and clean

Hate us not for the bandages we wear, But for that which forced us to hate our own fear


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