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