Fog

Appears a ghostly vision,
fog in from the sea.
Sentient in movement,
shrouds all in it’s mystique.
Along with a cyclop eye,
lighthouse lends a mournful wail.
While spectres breath dampens all,
your marrow the chill impales.
Hidden from sight, crashing waves
sounder louder, as if they crawl.
Following the living mist
as it breaches the seawall.
Seeping round panes and doors,
into every crevice.
The very air liquified.
A grey oppressive pressence.
Woood smoke blends it’s flavor
to the tang of the air.
In hopes flames beat it back,
keep tendrils from drawing near.
Then slowly as it tastes it’s fill,
of wooden planks and blood.
It leaves a sodden salt strewn smell,
seeming to just dissolve.
Folding back onto itself,
returning to the brine.
To wait for yet another morn,
To return to shore and dine.