English
Français
Deutsch
Italiano
Español
Hazy Days
Published Dec 22, 2025
Updated Dec 22, 2025
Poetry and Songs
3 min
Poetry and Songs
Published Dec 22, 2025
Updated Dec 22, 2025
3 min
2
Like
0
Love
0
Solidarity
0
Wow
0 comments
23 readings
Hazy Days
Contribute
I went for a walk on a hazy day,
Couldn’t see far, everything was gray,
The sun was nowhere to be found,
Swear I could almost hear hell’s hound.
I felt right at home: it looked like my mind.
Heavy and blurry, but not fully blind.
I darted out, straight into the cold,
Not sure if I was confused or bold.
I guessed my way, rediscovering all,
Wrapped head to toe in a misty shawl.
Lost inside familiar ground,
I started questioning all around.
In the death of autumn, the birth of winter,
A thick fog settles on December.
Filtering the world, draining life,
Too dense to ever cut with a knife.
The veil smothers my soul,
Tames my spirit into control,
But as seasons turn, the mist will drift away,
And maybe my thoughts will… one day.
Bare trees whisper broken tales,
Of greener days and cleaner trails.
The ground is hard, the air stands still,
Like time itself forgot its will.
My breath hangs low, a ghost in flight,
Slowly dissolving into the white.
Each step feels borrowed, out of place,
Like I’m fading at my own pace.
No thunder roars, no lightning cries,
Just endless gray before my eyes.
A quiet weight I’ve learned to know,
The kind that never lets you go.
In the death of autumn, the birth of winter,
A thick fog settles on December.
Filtering the world, draining life,
Too dense to ever cut with a knife.
The veil smothers my soul,
Tames my spirit into control,
But as seasons turn, the mist will drift away,
And maybe my thoughts will… one day.
I don’t scream for help into the sky,
I don’t curse the cold or ask it why.
I just stand still, learning how
To breathe inside the “here and now”.
Maybe light is not a blaze,
But a crack inside the haze.
Not a cure, not a sign,
Just a candle, small, not divine.
In the death of autumn, the birth of winter,
A thick fog settles on December.
Filtering the world, draining life,
Too dense to ever cut with a knife.
The veil smothers my soul,
Tames my spirit into control,
But as seasons turn, the mist will drift away,
And maybe my thoughts will… one day.
… One day…
23 readings
0 comments
Previous publication
3 min
You can support your favorite writers
