#66 of 365 – “fog”

“fog”

 

it is beautiful the way the tops of trees

and buildings disappear

 

hard lines softened like echoes

swallowed up in the atmosphere

 

the day’s blemishes are covered

by a merciful veneer

 

and loneliness is muted

to a whisper one can barely hear

 

I wish I had my own fog

to roll in over my neurosis

 

and cushion my anxieties

and fade out the awful voices

 

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About Blackbird

Poet, sculptor, writer, spouse, parent, crazy person - not necessarily in that order.
This entry was posted in Anxiety, Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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