Born of Fog

On Monday I started the WordPress Writing 201 course on Poetry. The assignment was a haiku and I am glad I published my little first poem of the month. From there though, I filled my week with job research and my marketing plan.

Find a Job before writing more poetry a reasonable person would say.

Friday evening came and well, my work week was over. Without much thought I grabbed a notebook and pen. I walked to the porch and sat in a favorite reading chair. I wanted to write, needed to write. I reviewed the daily poetry writing assignments I missed since Monday. Each day had a prompt word to inspire, a poetry form to explore and a language device to try.

The prompt word for Friday was Fog. The form was Elegy (focus on longing, loss, and mourning). The device was Metaphor, the prince of poetic devices.

I stopped cold and listened. “You were born of fog.” I began to write.

Born of Fog

 

One born of fog does not mourn the loss of

light and shape.

One born of fog knows to listen with open mouth,

tasting the air to understand the truth.

Eyes deceive, the fog whispers,

light and shape lead not the way.

 

I know of fog, born of fog.

Yet followed the worn path into light

and shapes with edges separating all.

Too easy to see, yet not understand.

I thought I knew, but I knew not.

 

Longing to return and embrace my birth.

I stand still,

accepting the fog once more.

My eyes dampen and lose focus,

shape without edge.

I return to the fog and remember the taste,

the memory of what I was to be.

 

Truth and salvation,

not out there in light and shape,

but inside.

I hear it, I taste it.

The fog whispers deep within.