Patterns in the Mist

 

  PATTERNS IN THE MIST
  The darkest night will always fade
into the dawn sublime
Yet first is born a scene unmarred
a moment out of time 

The flow of time just disappears
and magic now exists
Captured in surreal shades of gray
in patterns in the mist 

The world lies cloaked in mist pristine
by hands of men unstained
Where silence reigns in peace serene 
and calm of soul regained 

What once seemed real takes on new form
reality defined anew
By edges blurred and shapes unclear
and grays of varied hue 

Each tree an island in the mist
so strong and yet so frail
A steadfast, surreal sentinel
on watch before the veil 

What secrets lay beyond the veil
unseen by human eyes
What mysteries undreamt yet dwell?
What voice unheard still cries?

For is the mist before our eyes
or is it in the mind?
A shield we use to hide ourselves
from truths to which we're blind 

Each shape within the mist reflects
a truth within the soul
Defining faces of ourselves
at once both part and whole 

Within the mists we feel apart
but never dwell alone
For always ready, always there
the light divine is shone 

What once was gray shines now as white
through magic with a twist
And clarity and truth entwine
in patterns in the mist

I wrote this a number of years ago, but the seeing the Washington Monument hidden in the fog reminded me of it.