Moist and cold, that’s how it felt
when the hazy shades
covered the crest and shapes
and only the chill and the amaze
fuelled the wanderer within.
The white seemed fresh and fiery
in the flames of mystic clouds,
inescapable, boundless,
and agitated to take over
everything.
The roads lay no other stones
to turn around,
and the wind and the water poured down
through the air of silence and peace
and filled all with a touch of
content.
Swirling around the steep curves,
the journey escalated within
where the fog and the mist shadowed
the glimmer of rays,
and the trees overlapped the memories
that we had.
We were there, and everything was gone
from the shelves that lay stuck at discomfort
and everything seemed fine
and everything made sense
in that place
within the clouds.
·poetry