Foggy Blanket

My world is wrapped in a damp shroud
Thick fog clings to the ground
Reaches up and covers any hint of morning.
Headlights shine shafts of brightness
Pushing unsuccessfully through the mist.
It has wound around trees, bushes and homes
In the distance the eastern horizon
Does not yet exist, is not there.

Time and Mortality

The old man sat on his porch quiet in the dusk
Examining his mortality like a treasured pocket watch.
Carefully turning it over and over in his hand
Feeling the weight of the watch chain,
Opening the back to see the inscription
Secrets known and read only by him.
Watching the hands go round the dial
Seeing his face in the face of the watch
Knowing some not so distant day
The watch would tick for the last time.
As the hands climbed toward midnight
He wound the watch once again
Looked at the time once more, satisfied
And put his mortality back for another day.