Fog
In an isolated, separated world I see it –
Where limitations come from great distances,
And where human eyes strain to search,
I see it – hiding, covering, protecting.
Deep within the aura of the thick impenetrable shield,
It hides the possessions of our Dear Mother Earth,
A shield, a curse, a blanket, a life –
For what it is – being in our way.
A cloud in between the seer and the sight.
A mountain in between the climber and his height.
An omen given for the superstitious kind,
A rush – it leaves the snow behind.
Flowing from the clouds above,
It rests upon the Earth,
Floating on the heath below,
It covers every trace,
And then deprives, consumer now,
The landmarks of their worth,
It covers then, the makeup stain,
A blemish on the face.
I swim amongst the silvery, vastly
Open mass of sea;
I breathe, I gasp, I take it in,
The ocean in my throat.
But when takes in all too much
A taste of thickly sea,
He chokes, he gags, he cannot hold
The taste of mystery.
Ich bein da dunst, says all too well
The ancient side of me;
I swallowed it, it crushed my lungs:
The air I could not see.
It swallowed up my weakened self
That drowned in self-pity,
In all my utter loneliness,
I forgot what was meant to be.
It should have been that I had lived
A life apart from he;
I was a man, the sea was fog,
The joining vanquished me.
I am not the fog – and he is not me.