The wild fog of Pontoon

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