Walking With the Fog

Walking with the fog
cool breezes wash my skin
as cloaked villains bask in sin.

Along the pitiful road
the dark parades
and light masquerades.

The path moves
ticking with gloom
while the hour is well past noon.

Deepened shadows chase my eyes
and interlace a grove of trees
whose life is rationed out, for free.

What a lonely trail, the one that's straight
defiled by just one mere gate,
that beckons...come here, don't wait. 

Who yields to flowers, and also bramble
they feel a call to drift and stumble
so far from home they tend to crumble. 

Still an aura does exist
an effervescent sort of mist
encapsulating this devilish tryst.