163. The Fog


The misty earth below is hid,

From sight of God and man,

As heavens’ protection doesn’t bid,

This shadowed world to know its’ plan.

Beyond the airy gray below,

Are those who live within,

The land of empty-shadow,

Thick upon the air with sin.

In this land there is a house,

Covered with moss and jaded-vine.

And in that lonely little house,

Is a child in tranquil confine.

A fire pleasantly lights the room,

Glitterin’ the windows with a dance.

But a soul inside its’ tomb,

Is cold as ice…froze in a trance.

Silence poisons the emptiness,

But for the raging flames afar,

As a child bound to distress,

Can so swiftly burn and char.

Thoughts find themselves a home,

In minds that beg for mercy,

Beyond two glassy eyes which roam,

To glimpse every controversy;

For fires of rage burn bright,

Inside each past made memory.

Seen with unwarranted sight,

In a madmans’ vast puratory.

Men can be, or choose, to be,

The face of God on earth,

Raging at all souls they see:

Sinned and sorely lost from birth.

Fear is this mans mask of death,

To all who look upon it,

“For fear is respect”, he saith,

“Willed to strike the vile in wit”.

Terror and fear engulfs,

In flames he ignited,

In this child of ill-sent faults,

Not right, yet never righted.

The child in this lonely place,

In the rooms’ corner far,

In a state absent of grace,

Dreams of the soon daystar.

Though God’s closed his view,

To whate’er purpose is there.

He’ll return when the day is new,

As hope gives way to renewed care.

The misty earth below will light,

With sight of God and man,

And in the sunshine, eye bright,

Beg resolve for some ultimate plan;

Which leaves a solaced land,

Inside where this old house does stand,

Hidden from all sound reprimand.

K. Aldaya, 9/16/05

Picture:  by Meaghan at abookwormshaven.com; http://abookwormshaven.com/2012/12/08/saturday-snapshot-house-in-the-fog/