The Dense Fog of Night

You laugh at the fog,
laugh as you stumble
through it’s false darkness,
sing with each blind step,

even as you cry,
even in the pain of it all,
the remembrances with all their scars
and weeping sores,

you laugh.
a madman finding flowers
where there are none,
breathing deeply their fragrance,

sure of a God hiding in the dark,
letting Satan and his lovely minions
do their worst,
swarming like angry ants,

biting, burning, eroding the very ground
you walk on, leaving blood so beautiful
it is art,
invisibly on display, lost in the fog

carrying your secret,
that at just the right moment,
like the perfect novella,
the sun will appear,

fog will die a vaporous death,
and love, the great hero
of every story,
will appear from the mist,

it’s greatest surprise suddenly apparent,
your secret, the reason you laugh,
is that it was always there next to you
especially in the dense fog of night.

About this poem

I made the long drive from Virginia to Vermont yesterday afternoon and night. By the time I got home the fog was so thick I could barely see the hood of my car. I knew a fog poem would be brewing as I slept.

I was going to originally call it “Fifty Shades of Gray” because I am in playful mood this morning, but in the end, the poem turned more truthful, a bit dark, and more spiritual. Each poem is a journey that way, staring in one place, ending in another, one destination in mind, a completely different one discovered.

The picture was taken just down the road from me in West Pawlet, Vermont.

Tom