A heavy mist
chokes the hills
rolls and unfurls
down to an unsuspecting
tired little town

The beacon that shines
fails to penetrate
through the threatening folds
of the mist that strangles
the solemn chapel

A family sees the peril
and cowers in their home
fearful of this mysterious entity
as it climbs down
their chimney

The fathers seething cries
do nothing to dispel the spirit
for the mist holds no mercy
no prejudice
no opinion
no conviction

The mist
just consumes
in it's hazy
laisex fais way

......

By morning the mist has sunk
into the sewers
the graves
the very soul of the town itself

But it still lives
it's pulse felt
in every petrified heartbeat

The mist can still be seen
through the still eyes
of the villagers

Each tear shed
is symbolic
to emotion dead

And their eyes

Oh! Their sullen eyes

Have become dry.

A renegade leaf
blows in the wind
away from it's oppressor
who is rooted to the dirt

Swirling and soaring
ducking and diving
the leaf makes his decline
slow and steadily

He meets his own ground
and he begins to lose colour
and turns into a darker shade
of brown.

Corrosive thoughts
expel my intent
like a worn string
on a violin.

May I be blessed
in a self rewarding ignorance
biding my little time
to cash out on something
more worthwhile

May I be blessed
with a lack of drive
and blind to a goal

May I remember
ambition is charming
but it is never sincere

Let them remember
the important days
of how old they were
When Dr. Who came out

Only these men
can connect the irrelevant
with who we were at war with.

No
I do not see
how he
conveyed
nobility

How is it noble
to do a thing
when it is
expectant
on your mind

To receive praise
assertion
a favour in return

I guess
it is good
to give
when there's
a higher pay out
to receive.

That's something
Bukowski
would write

They say

I see you are
a London fan
by looking at this

They remark

I guess the fountain
of the creative mind
has dehydrated

I think.