Poetry Blogs (calling)

All around me the fog dances 

I look on to see as it tests its chances 

Waiting for me to open the gate 

It waits 

I stare at it as it does the same 

I take a step closer it watches 

I take another 

It's eyes slightly bigger 

I stop 

I open my mouth to speak 

Nothing comes out 

The fog whispers do not 

I stay where I stand  

Not daring a step 

It's fingers...

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Was it all real, 

what was said in the night?

Words sound different in the morning. 

But isnt the Romantic the one who knows right? 

He is the one who sees clearly 

that other world moving through us. 

Believe the heights, believe the depths;

it is the banality of the middle ground that lies, 

not the joy of the morning or the pain of the night. 

I must cling to what is ...

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