“Fog”
by Bill Ward
2000
Adrift in silent fog
Days turn to weeks
Weeks become months
Surrounded by wetness and grey.
When at long last
The fog suddenly lifts,
I find myself lost.
The current has carried me
Far from my home port
And all chance of safety,
I resign myself to fate:
Hope is gone now.
In the harbor, I know
Life goes on:
Fishing boats disgorge
Into waiting trucks,
Sea gulls swoop and squawk.
Dozens of sailboats
Set out to ride the breeze,
As I am
Blown
Slowly, steadily, helplessly
Toward the waiting rocks.
© 2000 William R Ward
All rights reserved.
Written Jul 15, 2000
Revised Aug 8, 2000
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