The Other Side of Rhyme 2

 

Welcome! It is the Other Side of Rhyme again. Today we explore a mystery in the fog, so put on comfortable shoes and walk with me into strange and wonderful poetry, some never read by you before and some old friends by now

A Visitor in the Morning Fog
by Adam M. Snow

Oh, what a stage this morning break;
on waking to a misty light.
My heart is weak, I feel it ache
upon this morning sight.
So thick the fog the dawn opaque,
which blocks the morning bright.

Unlike the sun my heart won’t hide,
nor in the fog where it dwells.
And even though with all my pride,
this hateful heart, I knew so well,
had left this man alone to stride
in this small smoky hell.

But in this fog a creature stirs,
with wings to which to flutter.
And though my eyes a blur,
I hear those wings begin to sputter.
But if it is as I should infer,
’tis some black bird aflutter.

To be here now where I have stood
amidst the winter’s fog.
It perched itself upon a wood,
a branch that fell into a log;
as nature shaped itself, it would
remove the gowans frae the bog.

O blackened creature piercing eyes,
It pierces my soul and steals my heart.
I hear its scornful cries
as it rips my soul apart.
As truth be told, I dare not lie;
I cannot cease this beating heart.

The crow that craves its carrion,
can never hide from me.
The pair of us shall carry on
in this fog, no men can see.
Nor shall they hear its clarion,
its squawking in an offset key.

It mocks me with its devilish stare,
in this fog upon this stage.
Such risk this foulest bird would dare,
then as to assuage
the gripes of this a smoky air
in a fog-like cage.

It speaks to me on this wise,
‘I shall never let you die.’
said he with his scornful cries,
spreading wings now as to fly.
That ol’ bird now on arise,
soaring to the sun on high.

Now I’m left alone to ponder,
who or what that crow may be.
Alone am I left to wander,
while that bird is flying free.
In the mist now yonder,
I am stricken with this misery.

For it twas I the darkened bird,
that tore my soul apart;
stole my voice, my words,
my virgin beating heart.
I feel this day absurd;
cursed me since the start.

Adam M. Snow

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