Foggy Poem by Dan Brown

Empty.
Of people.
Of decoration.
Of life.
But not
Of emotion.
A bitter chill in the air,
Nips my nose and makes it numb.
A lonely wind whips around frantically
looking for it’s gust of a Mum.
I walk on a carpet of fallen leaves,
and they flutter around me like Nature’s confetti;
celebrating my misery.
I feel for the leaves. They’re
Sad.
Alone.
Giving up clinging on.
Letting go and
Falling.
To the ground,
to be walked upon.
Never appreciated for the beauty they held.
The grass is swept by a shimmery shining,
like an Army of spiders have worked all night
To make it presentable for my
Passing.
The reluctant rays from the stuttering sun
strike them and I think.
If the floor could
Cry.
It would look like this.
The retiring trees cast sorrowful shadows over this
strange and private world.
Their skeletal fingers reaching
Up.


Trying to claw at the greying clouds, threatening to burst
in fits of
Anger.
I suddenly warm to the clouds; appreciate them being
Sympathetic
to my mood.
Mother Nature decides to close the book on this magical land
And a lid of mist descends.
It sinks lower, and lower, and lower,
So heavy that it weighs down my eyelids,
And drags all my thoughts
Down
to the pit of my stomach.
I see, briefly, an old man in the distance.
Hunched, collar upturned, holding off an
Attack
From the stinging cold, and it’s
Allies.
I see him briefly, flat cap and his dog.
But then he disappears into the fog.