Poet's Note:

"The Mists" was written for my AP Lit&Comp class based on a prompt to focus on a single element of the Autumn season. I plan to expand this into a quartet, one poem for each season, should I find the time. Please, leave your comments and criticisms.


"The Mists"

Descending from the mountaintops,
A sluggish, crawling mass of white.
Its power disarms every sense,
Its shroud engulfing all in sight.

This vaporous wave erases
The realm, creating a blank sea —
Eclipsing the now waning Moon,
The waking Sun, the rising Me.

Life is leeched from everything,
Vibrant Color drained away.
Shades of Death consume what's left, the
Phoenix's plumage reduced to Grey.

Enemies hidden in the mists,
In hoary hooded cloaks concealed,
Come bearing down, assault as one,
My trembling lips They strive to seal.

Again surrounded on all sides,
Relentless Limits pressing in;
I Fear there's no defense, escape —
No end to Despair that begins.

Smoky tendrils snake out to me,
Their deathly touch seeps to the bone.
I see the glowing eyes of Ghosts
Past, Present, and Yet to Come.

Words of Rejection, Refusal
Resonate through my Weary mind.
Abandoned in these choking depths,
Failing Strength and Hope I must find ...