Fog

Maybe death isn't linear,
Maybe it comes in waves.
Greeting us so silently
With a dreary haze.

Day in and day out
A silent, quaint visit.
Harbinger of fate,
A talk we prohibit.

If we could just lift
The veil from our mind.
Perhaps, we'd converse
From time to bleak time.

A mask that's assumed,
Bore to me unto you.
Impatiently waiting
For a day that we rue.

Reviews

[Amy R]

A very though provoking poem.

"Maybe death isn't linear,
Maybe it comes in waves.
Greeting us so silently
With a dreary haze." something about this seems very real, its something we won't know right away, like a creeper it comes.

Your poem explores between life, death, and the human consciousness, suggesting that death is not a singular event but rather a recurring presence that influences our lives silently and continuously.

Thanks for sharing, enjoyed this poem.
-Amy

[Hallow]

Thank you, I really enjoyed reading your review. I was hoping my thought process wasn't too ambiguous on this one, but you got it exactly. Thank again c:

[Hallow]

*Thanks.

I didn't want to rewrite it, but gosh does it bother me haha

[Amy R]

You're very welcome, it was just right. :))

[LisaCarol]

I found this very interesting. I’ve found most don’t want to speak about death, even though it is inevitable for all of us. Thank you for sharing.

[Hallow]

I've found the same. I'm a bit of the opposite. I like to talk about it until I have an existential crisis. Different strokes for different folks. Thanks for reading.