Moving in
like a fallen monolith
fearing my breath
will fade in the mist
It has eyes
circling like a hungry hawk
engulfing everything around me
as I wait to be a victim
I will be carried away
into a misty Gothic world
a prisoner of Castle Moon
my room, a small and dank turret
But alas, van Carstein will come
despite his passive ways
taking me to Fog’s other home
on London’s midnight shore
This magic sponge shines in grey
My dreams coming to life
imagination’s blooming flower
rooting in creaking docks
I love this world
a life in clouds of lust
hugging us, in a brumous bed of hope
dancing in the purplish haze
You’ve done a marvellous job capturing the feeling of fog and its personality.