Mistbound Reflections

 

A canvas gray, a somber hue,
The rain had fallen, soft and true.
A drizzling mist, a misty veil,
That blurred the world, and made it pale.

Upon the bank, of mud and gloom,
I stood, and watched the river's bloom.
The water swirled, a liquid dream,
A memory, a whispered stream.

The sky above, a somber shade,
Of muted blues, and whispers made
Of clouds that drifted, slow and deep,
A silent story, secrets to keep.

The air was thick, with scents of damp,
Of earth awakened, and the lamp
Of morning's light, now dimmed and low,
A whispered promise, soft and slow.

The world was hushed, in gentle sigh,
As if it paused to ask me why—
Why hearts grow heavy, days grow still,
Why time moves on against our will.

I thought of roads I didn’t take,
Of quiet dreams I let forsake.
Of love once warm, now swept away,
Like petals lost in rain’s ballet.

The mist became my shroud, my shield,
A quiet place, where thoughts could yield—
To all the things I could not say,
To grief that never fades away.

And yet the river still would run,
Beneath the gray, it chased the sun.
A thread of hope, though faint and small,
Still carried forward through it all.

So as I turned to leave that place,
The storm had left a clearer face—
For in the rain, though shadows grew,
I saw the world begin anew.