fog is but the breath of ghosts (five)

fog is but the breath of ghosts
dancing its mournful dance
there, before you
like a thing you grab but cannnot hold
like a thing you cannot describe but know too well
there, painting enchantment before you
showing patterns of other worlds
butnever long enough to see them
the fog is a grey that describes each color in detail
a silence that speaks each extinct language loudly
a frenzy that has learned patience
the ghosts peer from within it
and coomand envy and pity at the same time
each breath they take paints a picture
of what is left inside them
grey, silent frenzy
that has learned patience from ages of
sighing into the face of father time

fog is but the breath of ghosts
and clouds collect the tears of the damned
the flood is upon us
as it rains down like a cold wet fire
the water is up to our ankles now
and you can see things moving quickly in the murk
things that have not lived for thousands of years yet still hide in your mind
the water is up to our knees now
the sound of the clash of the rain to the water
is like a thousand spiders screaming death in your ear
the water is up to our chests now
you try to wade past the junk in the water
as those ancient things dart past your legs
the rotting claws of the now tearless damned
cling to the flotsam and jetsam for sweet, dear life
and refuse to be drowned in the lake of their own horrors and suffering
but the waters grow hungry
and the undercurrent stirs
those ancient things perhaps are soldiers of damnation
as they eye up your legs
ready to take you down
and let the flood of sorrows have its way with you

fog is but the breath of ghosts
and damnation, it seems
is not escapable by all