Fog

The fog drifts in and out, weaving amongst the trees,

Slowly devouring the black stumps,

Tempting it to collapse and give up.

The fog licks at the lampposts,

Gliding along the empty streets with Wind, it’s graceful partner,

Which manipulates the abandoned accessories left on the sidewalk.

Frost occasionally strolls along the bare streets

And is then driven away in the summer time, by Smog.

But the whole time, Fog stays;

It’s emotionless glare transparent

Through the emptiness of the place.

A poet named Fred

Fred Furt was a short and stout poet.

He was conceited yet clever and considered himself cheerful.

But though he was always solaced, his poems were sweet, sophisticated and satisfied readers.

Jimmy James Junior didn't like Fred Furt, or his poems.

Jimmy's wife Wanda, wished Jimmy wasn't so wicked towards Mr. Furt.

But no-one knew that Jimmy James Junior's horrible past involved Fred Furt....

Words

They're such a pain, and I don't even gain.

They fill up every line, and send shivers down my spine,

But without them, I would've never heard,

Of the horrible invention they call WORDS!!

Approaching Dreams

Eyes closing

Darkness, yet light

Dream world

Soul not mind

Open eyes

Unwanted

Disturbing

Reality

The sky

I lay on the cool waters of the sea, staring at the wide, inviting, open blue sky.

I don't want to go back to the bustle and the crowd of the city.

I want the carpets of water to guide me along forever.

I want to share my thoughts with the sky and the tiny little creatures of the sea.

I want to lay here, drifting through the rains and thunder and lightning.

I don't want to think.

All I want to see is the wide, inviting, open blue sky.

Snow

Snow;
White and foamy, slipping between my fingers;
Enveloping the mountain tops, reaching the grey clouds;
Enclosed in the gloomy mist, clinging to bare trees;

Stiff, but slippery;

Beautiful but deadly.