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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