The fog is muscled-up thick
preventing me from finding shore.
Every direction I turn
I’m head-locked tighter in dilemma.
I can’t just sit in its grip,
there must be a way to slip free.
I’ll stab its muddy-bottom feet,
with the long pole I hold,
until, it lifts them out of the water.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
10 comments:
Do stab its toe. It deserves nothing less!
Freedom...
wonderfuly said!!
fantastic imagery pat
thank you
Your words express it so well!
Good poem, Pat!
Margie
I know the feeling you describe so well. You took me to that place for a moment and yanked me right back out.
Thank you!
great imagery... i can feel it if not see it
"muscled-up thick" is a great descritpive phrase.
I agree with Sir Floots .., the imagery is divine.
hi friend
Post a Comment