The fog’s especially heavy tonight. I can’t see three feet past the door, so I guess it’s a good time to stay inside and write this letter. The lighthouse on the island has sounded the foghorn every two minutes for hours now.
I haven’t been back to the island since that night. In some ways, I wish I had moved away when you did. I’m sure it’s a lot easier on you not having to look out across the water and see that island every day. I know the spot is overgrown now, but I can still pick it out as clearly as if we’d left a marker. And hearing that blasted horn blow every time the fog moves in really gets on my nerves.
Tonight it’s as thick out there as it was the night we buried him. I often wonder what would have happened if the fog had lifted in time for someone to see us digging the grave. But, of course, that wasn’t likely to happen. Once the dratted stuff moves in, it clings to us like a shroud for hours on end.
I wish you were sitting here with me, sharing a bottle of our favorite whiskey. I hate being alone with my thoughts. I’m always chilled and shaky when there’s fog. It feels as if something’s choking me. I wonder if that’s how he felt as we tightened that rope around his neck until he stopped breathing. I know if I could hear your voice now, you’d tell me to stop being so fanciful.
I wish you were here with me. I hate fog.
To participate in this prompt, visit The Daily Post.
Today’s prompt word is “fog.” The form we’ve been asked to use is the elegy — with strong encouragement to try using elegiac couplets. And the technique assigned for today is the metaphor.
I’ve offered my piece in a slightly modified elegiac couplet, and the only occurrence of a metaphor is in the second line. But since this is the poem that came to me, I did not try to force myself to comply with more exact or more numerous metaphors. I sort of liked the piece the way it came. So, dear readers, that’s the way I’m serving it to you. (And to set your mind at rest, I will tell you that the poem is NOT based on personal experience — I’m thankful to say.)
Out from the fog and the daze I am struggling to make my way.
Scrabbling to gather the pieces of my tattered life.
Once I was warm with a love that imbued me with happiness.
Now only memories haunt me and cause my heart strife.
I sought to hold you, to own you, to bind you to me for all time.
Giving no freedom, no breathing space, no chance to fly.
Smothering you with my paranoid jealousy; making you hate me;
Turning your poor heart to stone, and that caused you to die.
Oh, how I long for just one day to relive my tragic mistakes –
One hour to whisper that finally my lesson I’ve learned.
One precious moment to bare my soul as I have never before,
Offering you only the unselfish love that you earned.
But wretch that I am, I have come to the truth only when it’s too late.
Repentant in heart, but with no where to go to confess.
For cold, ‘neath the ground you have lain all these months, and your ears cannot hear.
I’m eternally lost in this fog of remorse, and there is no rest.