The wild fog of Pontoon
The wild fog of Pontoon drifts in
from the vergeless lake,
Washing over emptied hills
vanishing in its wake.
It softly whispers silence a
welcome to embrace,
And in the muted morning the two
all else efface.
The mountains turn to dust, their
shadows fade away,
The treeline in the nearland gently
turn to grey.
Wrapping its silky white fingers
around hedges, grass and goats,
As a nomadic ethereal spectre through
every sight it floats.
The sunlight pounces down, to try
and pierce the veil,
The willowy watered haze, it brightly
doth assail.
The world is turned to ochre with
silhouetted haw,
A new domain before me appearing
without a flaw.
I wish my hands could capture the
beauty afore mine eyes,
And place upon a canvas this wishy
washed out guise.
Don’t tell me God is fiction, or my
belief but an affliction,
For in this newly sketched morn, my
faith is again reborn.
Warrior Princess
