The Metaphorical Fog

I’ll fight my way through the darkness, finding the writer in me,

Pushing through that dense fog, vanquishing with brilliancy;

Recalling summer days, when I was brimming with potential,

And those cold winter nights, when all was uneventful

In mid-evening, I strolled along that sandy encrusted shoreline,

Heard the waves crash, the ship’s horn call in rhyme;

The beast in the distance, eyeing me with vague mystery,

Bare feet on a warm bed of proverbial hot tamales

Unable to see clearly for the light that shines on the bay,

This hark feat of nature, the thing that blocks my way;

Looking through the clouds, for thy shape that is great,

Struggling through well run dry, rolling the red tape

The great thing about writing, it’s either a half full or empty glass:

You either look to the future or stay stuck in troubled past

For much of it all, does not deal with cemented perfection;

This metaphorical fog, it’s always causing digression

I hear the seagulls cry, scattering along the endless beach,

My mind sinking in quicksand, striking with careful beats

#Writing201

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Author: Macbofisbil

Welcome to "Macbofisbil: An Awesome Mind", a place where you will find all sorts of interesting stories, pictures, and advice on life in general.

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