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Yes, i have lost my path
i have left the road
but
the mist has cleared
the sea is calm
and
although my eyes are closed
i can see for the first time,
my mouth is shut
but am singing louder

i want to make the next city of dreams
not for me
not for you
not for anyone

it ll be mine
it ll be yours
it ll be for everyone

without mist's
and a sea with river water
Leocardo Reis Jul 2021
The drops of mist from crashing falls
descend upon my face
and scatter in the whirling breeze
to dance in playful grace.
Svetoslav Apr 2021
Olive juice hovers
summoning ivory mist
closing fiery lips
ryn Apr 2021
.
Morn’s lingering mist...
Silently skimming
off the water’s edge.

          Deft tendrils reach out,
          to playfully
          taunt and tease...

Digging and uncovering...
Like a slow and worn...
But trusty dredge.

          Unearthing unwelcomed
          memories of (c)old,
          like an abrupt winter’s breeze.



.
Towards every sound, I can only move.

My eyes tied back masked in the fog.

No light shining through

No one to guide me.

Like a glacier in the vast abyss floating towards nothing.

Only accompanied by the echoes of yesterday.

-Kore
***
Shadow404 Feb 2021
He
Heard the voice calling in his heart
Grew his wings
Beyond the horizon he flies

There's no map of the skies
Nobody heard his cries
Lost forever in the mist
Of his mind

His way back he couldn't find
So he moved on
Fading into the colors of sunset
Nothing left behind
Shrouded, in a mist,
Enriched, in a cyst;

I saw you skid,
Slip, in a slit;

Diving in your cove,
Hiding in your jove;

Rolling down the hills,
I saw you in the midst;

In chaos, I reigned,
And in silence, it rained;

Reminding me of you,
Gliding into the hue..
Shrouds clear.
Alicia Moore Jan 2021
Dancing with clouds
is a dream I carry,
but soon I am reminded
that I would slip through the mist.

I dream to be a bird,
but can only be given
the life of rain droplets.
Derby Jan 2021
Singing the way rain sings
in a deluge of dawn fog,
driving through like cutting knife--
a hot blade in butter--
this engine putters
and pushes on,
sweet, so sweet the tune,
lost in a mist
his voice echoes
like billowing clouds,
she rests on her pillows
in wait,
for he'll be home soon.
Talia Dec 2020
grey misty haze
why pray for better days?
silver hues
lick moist air
in the beautiful world we share
puddles painted on the floor
revealing your unfocused stare
grey misty haze
tickling noses blue
should be enough
for you
why do people not appreciate grey days? do these days not accentuate the vibrancy of the rest, whilst being intriguing and softly beautiful in their own right?
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