The Irish Mist Came Down

 

The mist comes down

and everything is white.

It rolls over the waters.

Nothing is visible but white.

There are only wisps of faint 

edged outlines 

of tree branches in blue ,

as the would be saint

battles with the dragon.

He thrusts

his spear.

There are only shadows

of the tail.

It is very near.

He’s battling with fear,

temptation, idols ,

passions,

and frailty of the flesh.

The night

turns into day,

still all obscured by

blinding white.

And between the intermittent

moments of despair, 

the sun shines though, 

and all is made clear.

The fog fades,

and disappears,

as does the fear.

The light,

and the sages

help him

find his mark,

as he pierces,  

the bloody morbid 

dragon snake,

green,

right,

through the heart. 

From “No Subject Here just Light” by PWChaltas