Snow On The River (Iii)

Poem By jim hogg

Smoke comes billowing out of my head. I can smell it wafting around my nose. The opaque screen impairs my vision and now I am one human sense down.


Is it a dream?

Is it non-fictional?

Am I delusional?

I am blinded by what seems to be my thoughts physically and mentally hindering me from multitasking; unable to change the subject. I observe the vision projected on the fog screen and see my thoughts. Why is it only I can see them? Can nobody else clearly see the smoke engulfing me except me? I give in to myself and think. Watching the deep thoughts, I notice that it isn't past or present, only hallucinations of a much sought after future, near and far.

I sit down and become controlled by this lackadaisical trance and ponder. My eyes become lead and my muscular endurance runs thin. My eyes burn to be closed.

I want to forget about this cloud but its noises keep me awake, a pitch that chills my blood. Furthermore, I cannot even hear the music transcending into my ears. As all of the sounds, mental and physical, while both still intangible, crash into each other and become a blur of a white noise. I drift away, falling into my own head. It is there I sleep however, the mind doesn't stop; it continues its hypotheticals in my dreams.

The smoke engulfs me once again. The embers of my mind continue to billow smoke and it is then I succumb; succumb to the power of my own thoughts...

Comments about Snow On The River (Iii)

This is great I like it -good job! 10+++


5 out of 5
0 total ratings

Other poems of HOGG

White-Washed Walls

The blank white washed wall. Covered in posters, it looks a little more elaborate than before. Consequently, it appears more appealing but no matter how hard you try to hide the wall with paper, beneath it is still that sad stale plain wall.

Sometimes, if you fixate your eyes to that wall in the pitch black of the darkened room only set aglow by the computer monitor, you can see it become animated. The wall starts to move inward, shapes are formed by the uneven coating of paint that move with life. However, everyone else will look at this wall and see nothing.

Counterproductive Thoughts Of An Insomniac

Dismay, disarray;
Marionette, let me make you who you are today
Put on that schizophrenic mask, smile and play
These phantom limbs and phantom thoughts

What Was Then And There

Axial rotational ride
Too beautiful to let yourself hide
Such short time on this lush green roller coaster
We can't spare clocks on braggers and boasters

Fool's Gold

Perfection is not instant
Remember that perfection is a process of trial and errors!
There are no shortcuts in time so go the distance.
But do not stray from the path like fool's gold I'll compare!

Where I'M From

I am from the Shadows.
I am from the dark womb.
I am a silhouette from the sonigram,
Quiet but moving and forming contemplations.