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.