Fog

Sometimes I could almost imagine I am made of fog
cool and formless
I am there and not there
If there is a brief shaping
a definition
a moment of recognition
it ends too soon
swirled back into the path
of whichever way the wind is blowing
I leave traces
bits of clinging but nothing hard
nothing solid
I move through the world with unnoticeable footsteps
leaving behind only the forgettable
the unremarkable
and while my mind builds castles and rides dragons
and thwarts the evil sheriffs
and wraps the past the present and
the future in magic carpet colors
none of it leaks through my fingertips
to leave tracking prints or trail of breadcrumbs
leading a searcher to me
In my fog state
my vaporness
there is nothing to hold on to
even if someone wanted to
they have only to reach out and I will slip
coolly through their grasp
leaving only a damp residue to be
brushed off in preoccupied distaste

@jayetomas2014
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About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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4 Responses to Fog

  1. kamilica2002 says:

    Dear awesome and talented poet (artist) your work is very remarkable, visible, noticeable and you can only rise higher and higher in it…having us, your fans, as a solid tree you can hold on. Always

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