Fogged
This moment, delivered through
time-slots
past, one by one, where life
breathed;
hot air vapored on cold glass.
This chamber of glass, cold glass of
all ‘about’,
about life, that is breathing hot
air,
this moment sweats.
This moment sweats, here in a
swelling chamber;
Swelling with foggy humid moments,
yearns to break, break this glass.
So fine, the spill over of one stanza into another, until I feel stifled behind a windshield through which I have no visibility. Growing up along a river, I often experienced the "pea soup" of fog; and then again on the California shore. I love in your poem that it is the moment itself that yearns to break the glass.
ReplyDeleteSometimes our life to gets fogged with thoughts , but we need to come out......beautifully penned.
ReplyDeleteI can feel the humidity, reading, and see the fogged glass..........good one!
ReplyDeleteI'm breaking into a sweat and I am not too sure why. :-/
ReplyDeleteI like the way myriad hues are painted here. Well done with the form
ReplyDelete