There Is a Fog Which Blocks My Path (Poem)

There is a Fog Which Blocks My Path

E.E. Blake

 

There is a fog which blocks my path.

Though it is silent and clear as glass,

It is a dense weight, pressing firm against

My weary mind.

 

I question the many variables that could

Possibly account for this numb, glass, cloud.

Whether these reasons are tangible or delusive,

I do not know.

 

Like a snow globe, my mind sloshes

To and fro against the dome,

While everything that matters stands rigid

At the base—

A paper-thin, wane, plastic, yellow house with

Two plastic children clad in red and green;

A paper-thin half-made plastic snowman stands

Forever in their wake.

 

All that I strive for bursts against the dome,

A snowy mushroom cloud high above the children’s heads—

And as I fight to catch ev’ry flake upon my tongue,

The heavy fog rolls in.

 

I have these memories—

I know these words—

I see these sights!

How does this taste?

How does this smell?

What did I think?

What did I feel?

 

But the fog consumes it all

Rushing rapids of creamy milk

That swallows up glacial chocolate chunks.

And all I know is gone.

I cannot recall such simple things

Though all these things are simple such.

 

Can I quell this foul fog?

Take up the globe and throw it hard—

The loud smash as glass erupts

In a liquid blast

As the plastic life cracks in half

And the base snaps off—

Watch my snowflakes

Flutter noiselessly

Amidst the mess,

Or am I just to sleep and sleep?

Sleep, Forevermore?

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