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6:00pm on a Wednesday, the soft rain has left a vapor in the air that settles on your skin like sweat. The sky fills with clouds and sun to spread a yellow hue across the atmosphere like looking through aviator glasses.
Its veil that surrounds me, Soft and secure, In thin, sleepy wonder, The world is obscure. The thick air heralds thoughts Of misty ship moorings A sloop, gliding in to rest
A single loon floated above the winter Harbor mist. Gliding between masts of sunken, Broken ships. Swirling circles like an eclipse Of the moon. An entrancing stillness heard there
One small grey Thursday Fog drifts up from the valley At least the birds are gay
In life we are given many tokens of worldly greatness,Staring us in the eyes through a mist,A dark fog with nowhere to see anything in front of us,Except for those objects that are inanimate.
I rise with the dawn and dusk alike
Floating Hovering above where I want to be Reality isn't about keeping calm or carrying on Reality is fog in a forest Orange trees swallowed whole Unaware of what is said or heard
Glancing out the dusty window, I see the mist slowly fall, I look into the mirror hanging on my wall, I inspect myself thoroughly finding things to blame, I pick and prod and tear apart my body’s external frame,
Good morning and good night To you whose always let me down We're dancing apart in this twilight You're rising sun tares me down. I followed you into te haze Not realizing you never looked back