fog is but the breath of ghosts (four)

fog is but the breath of ghosts
like an unwanted eagerness
a painful reminder of death on the doorstep
like knowing the monsters under your bed
do not exist
but perhaps something worse will seize you
when the light flickers out
like the pawn at the queen's mercy
like the king left alone
checkmate

fog is but the sighs of madness
a branch for the wind to wind and bend
a soul to be taken and forgotten again
the leaf that gets blown about and never quite lands
the tide that ebbs but never quite reaches the sands
a purpose whose reason has lost intent
an emotion whose feeling knows only contempt
a word which lies on the tip of the tongue
a word which will wither and remain unsung
a reaching hand in the stiffness of descent never to be seen
a welcome you shun as you feel in between
the pawn and the queen
and wonder what happened to mercy

fog is but the whisper of sadness
incarnate she rolls to anything sullen
trespassing the night like a thought stopped cold
escaped from the mind
never to find
lips to speak it
what's wrapped and trapped and surrounded
she sees what's hidden
what's buried away and that which is forgotten
she stirs it up like the undercurrent
rising ancient seashells from the ocean floor
and when all is settled
you are left vulnerable
and it is her move

checkmate