morning strange dream


For once I did not like the fog in the trees

It seemed they hid silence and fear

Draped together as one

The branches and needles bent together

Fingers reaching for another time

Swirling layers of mist caressed my cheek

Calling me to the deep

But I remained

Closing the pane between

This dark world and my own

Turning back in

The hope would begin

Or so I thought

But the storm has darkened the house

The largeness of all things enveloped me

I sat down to write

And saw all the things I had not finished

The priest had told me fine things

And I trusted him

Yet he was not here

And the storm raged

Branches reaching reaching

Unseen hands beseeching

I held fast and cowered low

My desk began to shake

Aye, it was because the hands

Grasping it shook

My hands

Pale to the knuckle

This storm like all others

Will pass

It is necessary to wait

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