"Mist Mornings"

months were always too short
it rained eternally
yet froze suddenly like death
time ran out
leaving me dry and alone here
left me feeling the cycle of life dully repeated
in the song of a dying bird
days like this
came in pairs to haunt me
fog ran thick in sheets rolled over white hills
in a land i have never been since
i would step in puddles
to be sure they had bottoms
for there has never been
a bottom to my soul
trapped in mysticism,
i could not capture these days
i could not capture these woods
somewhere in my mind,
a ghost girl screams, to tell me stories
of a life i once lived
but i have grown past
and i will lift the bird
lifeless from the ground
to feel the bird, to will its heart
to beat again
for my heart has never stopped beating
and in the midst of this,
i see the cruelty again
rising to greet me,
it is not death, but life
with her needle fingers come
to lift me from my sleep
again away from the mists
to lift me again into
the land of the waking