If a force halts moves, then, surely you.
Who masked sea rocks? You hazed the blue.
If man needs slowing, you are head.
Thank you, O'Stage of Grateful Dead.
A crew's mystique, 'tis thee, 
even when a hull's bleakness is to be.
Your charm doth manage horror,
blurring deathly auras.
Yet, King Forest wears your misty crown
and His woody subjects you as a gown.
Man views you as cause to frown
When you're just his reminder to pause or to make him down.

From the Soul,
TSP Compositions
 

📕“The Fog (Poem)” is a piece from my upcoming published anthology, “Return from the Pale Trail: Gifts to Humanity We’ve Been Taught to Forget.” I’m ecstatic to share this wonderful piece of literature with the family. I hope you all enjoy. Until then, feel free to check out my other published materials.