Mist Poem by Henry Tong
Mist
In an alley it permeates
casting on me a facade
I cannot see.
Its thickness quilts
people with blindness and
bruises my skin.
Its talons clasp
my image, my being,
down into abyss.
I swallow the moisture
of clamor in a crowd;
I sip insipidity.
There is no acquaintance
if the mist of moral
veils humanity.
But once I walk out
of the darkest scheme
I set the world free.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/23/2024 3:33:53 AM # 1.0.0.1119
I swallow the moisture of clamor in a crowd; I sip insipidity. Well it catches the right mood. Sometimes art is like that- you'll endure boredness before you succeed.Thank you for sharing, young poet!