Blue Fog


And it klinks, so calm and rhythmic.

When the melody takes up, an aura flows free

This, pure gaze of the heart, shall ever be enlighted

Never... Shall it find the path through the window

Slow, and steady, the deep tone wanders onward

How long will it ring in it's final token?


Then it starts again, mellow melody

It nearly, but only nearly, steals away the aura

Up to a higher tone, so fragile and bright...

Where it lingers, for merely a minute, no more

Before the sound of the soul dims forth yet again

When has it done it's deed, will it ever be, say?


And the fog outside it heard

Eagerly it listened, for every tone was of silver

In over dusty floor, embracing young poet and heart

Silent, like Death itself, choking his thoughts to ashes

On, plays his fingers, a melody that is still unnamed

Yet what is heard, is a spinning void laid across the room


He hears only hollow tones

Sounds of merely nothing but fragments of stone

These tones are now alike the ones of the whisper in the wind

They are sad, so sad without core, no shell, nor structure

Atmosphere of greyest melancholy, it spreads like a yawn

Ambient solitude... Is his dearest friend.

The End

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