A Foggy Reflection

By Meredith Falls

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There are seasons in which clouds 

Weave blankets of echoing indispositions, 

And in this time, wretchedness 

Falls in sync with our vulnerable positions 

Tell me honestly, when I

Sip from mugs of memories and heed afflictions, 

What it truly is that I

Consume in the name of nostalgic depictions

I cannot explain to you

Or give any sort of coherent prediction,

Whether it’s my aching heart 

Or hungry soul that notes the sky’s dereliction 

The sky, which is cast over, 

Purges from my soul fascinating dejection,

My heart is filled up with joy 

When the gloom mimics my desolate reflection