Handwritten poem in a notebook juxtaposed with cutouts of planets and clouds, in front of a wine glassware filled with pink beverage and dried petals of rose that’s beside a branch of dried flowers.

Behind A Fog

Behind A Fog

It had the face of a luminar
Thus attracted me to what's far, 
A gigantic fire, fiercely burning
Its body an incensed torpedo
Its flames, a sweet spot for melting
The shape of its eyes, a glittering facet
It's enthralled chant, a musical crescendo
And like a moth I died in its flames 

It's so heartbreaking, you see
As to live life in an illusionarium
Running away so as to be free —
A slave to these things unreal
Chained to those beings all fake
Wanting liberation from the confusion
Trying to catch the state of what's real
Dying to know, for one's own sake,

How I wish your dews were pure water
Not infected by a poisonous enzyme
Or fogging my ideas for me to deter
Things and places that will never be mine,
I was taken aback by fear, certainly
Undigested feelings burning me
But I am too, an undefined structure
Ready to break out, like thunder. 
 
-eiravel-

To write this story-like poem I used my imagination, and asked myself the question, what would I want to see behind a fog.