The Mists

Trees disappear into mist
The road winds into fog
I fall, off-kilter, into both
Not knowing where I will land

Dream-like allure
Can only beckon so far

I grab for your hand
Bare branches that break
Snapping off like icicles
Cold, rigid, brittle

Where is the color?
Quests for palettes of satisfaction

Every time I find my way
To the sun, the color,
I’m mesmerized by the mists
And let them draw me back in

-copyright csherar, Jan 2017

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