Gothic Fog

He stepped outside
and rubbed the fog,
its pliant hide. What's
inside you? he asked.

No answer. Just muffled
rumblings. Suddenly
a woman's hand emerged,
caressed his cheek and neck.

'Come in, ' a female voice
said clearly. He entered
the fog. In there, faces floated
like unlit paper lanterns.

A chorus of moans arose.
He turned to escape, but
elsewhere had vanished.
He was inside the fog now.

He moaned.

by Hans Ostrom

Comments (5)

i loved the rhymes........magnifico seniyor........bravo. your hello to the world is ambigous....but very clear statements.i'll read more of yours in times.
Beautifully descriptive - who on earth made mothers? Kind regards Aine
Beautiful, poetry A mother's love is the best. Magnificent poetry.....
A tender word portrait of a mother's love. Every child in the world deserves this. Warm regards, Sandra
gem, the mothers' deep love.i like it very much, that's ture.txxx