Mists

The days will pass in misty silences
As we go walking through these landscapes made
So suddenly into substantial dreams,
Where anything that looms abruptly out
Of mists, becomes a portent and a sign.
Our actions are decided only by
The things we see because there is no rhyme
Or reason in this spreading silence now
Enclosed by these deep dense surrounding mists.

No language tongues could ever turn to sound,
Describing all we see or hear, could tell
All what we need to know. There will be time,
There will always be time, while time surrounds
And swallows all of us. To now begin
To turn in silence, taking all the steps
Our rituals make necessary now
To take us on towards a world that grows
Out from these mists that shroud our dawns and hide
The possibilities of sunshine days.