White Mist

Blurred locations

That fly by

One by one

Never settling

A consistent constancy

Other than the white mist

A delicate haze

That cloaks the country

A quiet ghost

Which masks the impurities

Outlines without details

Alike a half finished painting

It feels ethereal

With the blazing lamp posts

Doubling as willow-the-wisps

And the bare February trees

Disguised as skeletal figures

Their long limps stretching outwards

Alike the yawning man behind me

As we travel through

This changed land.




A/N: Quite an old one that I found in a notebook that I thought I might as well upload. Thank you for reading! 🙂




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