The Fog

[Brenda Starrr]

Standing at my window

I watch the fog roll in

Hoping that you roll with it

But all I see is night

The night brings the moon

The chill brings the fog

I want it to bring more to me

But it doesn't, and I turn away

To my bed I slowly creep

Disheartened, tired, and beaten

Dropping my gown to the floor

I slide between my sheets

Only to watch the fog roll in

[soothsayer]

Excellent work Brenda. You're really finding your own style. =)

[Brenda Starrr]

Thank you, sooth. I think it's just hormones and fantasies getting the best of me.

[Amerist]

Fog, the ocean that has no home. The maiden at the cliff becomes the maiden at her window; the crashing surf transmogrified to the rolling white.

Now that's a new angle, and a welcome one: the urban marinescape.

[Brenda Starrr]

Ooh! That's nice!

[bean]

Very nice poem

[Brenda Starrr]

Digging them up as I go.....

[The Rod]

Quite the sad write, though there is that touch of hope that he may one day come. And the way you ended it much the way you started it... I loved that. It almost reminds me of this one style, I believe it's called a mirror poem. The second half of the poem in that style is the same lines as the first half, but reversed (the first line of the poem is also the last, and so on inward).