Fog, The King

The breeze shifts and the eternal light falls dim

As the fog settles comfortably upon the ground

Blanketing earth upon his own whim


Wrapping the flowers on their stems all around

The fog suffocates pathways for air to flow

Twisting and cracking, murderous bound


With what escape could the flowers all go

Cornered by this cloud weighing them all down?

Then again, there’s always the route to down below


For the fog takes control and gifts itself the crown

Earning the title of a harsh and cruel king

While each and every plant is announced as a clown


Like an ill-hearted wife bound by a ring

The flowers all suffer under the cruelty of him

Unceasing: the torture of all that he brings


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