Haunting melancholy avenue
a silhouette in foggy hue
weeps for what could have been
while she waited for the great ‘begin’.
Her can of love remained unopened
the voice inside remained unspoken
she never knew how to be
all she knew was how to breathe.
There was method in her madness
There was style in her apparatus
She could see what needs to be seen
She could see inside the in between.
Our very own Joey Potter
but smarter and oh so hotter
She was the brains behind the beak
a genius that didn’t speak.
Clearing the fog of self doubt
and sweeping the shadows out
are done with friends, hand in hand
for only they can understand.
That with every drop of laughter
and every silent whisper
will roll away the darkened clouds
and a life is left, standing proud.
Written for Writing 201
Fog — Elegy — Metaphor