Unsettling.
The fog creeped in
Weaving around bushes and cars.
It whispered,
But not a soul could tell what it wanted .
Funny,
because souls were the very thing the fog thrived on.
It collected them,
lined them up in jars.
When it rained, the fog would let the souls free.
They would run,
Skipping down drains and pipes,
Flowing to the sea,
Where they would meet the fog once more.
Unsettling.
The fog is in today.
I wonder what it will take from me this time.
YOU ARE READING
Brain Noodles (poetry)
PoetryA collection of poems. Some entered in contests, others just for fun.
