Watching Fog Drifts Arrive


Two melodramatics, I called us. The world
Would think we are children too young to be born.
Six billion people are one by one hurled
Into a deep well, but you and I mourn

For you and I only. Sometimes we fail
Or forget to acknowledge there’s more to the quest
Than our own timid ghosts, white lost in the pale
Of the fog drifts that slowly roll in from the west.

We take things for granted; when you’re happy you’ve
Always been happy, when sad hard to prove
You were anything ever but miserable. How
It will always be cold just because it is now.

And what is it about us that makes us deprive
Ourselves of the joy? I remembered that we’ve
Sat in the dew watching fog drifts arrive,
But never sat watching them leave.