misty mountains cold

every time i see a beautiful sight,
a soft sigh escapes me,
for it seems beyond
the arms of my paltry words.

every time i see a beautiful sight,
i vow to leave it free,
not dilute the magic into
unfaithful words,
that bend to everyone's whim.

every time i see a beautiful sight,
i tell my heart to be still.
tell my thoughts to hand over
the sentences which flow
without prompting into verse.

every time i see a beautiful sight,
against my will,
much to my chagrin,
i begin writing.

tonight is no different.
the fog envelops every building,
every streetlight,
every lone wanderer.
the moon is a half circle,
hanging precariously,
surrounded by a warm halo.
cones of light spread into
each other,
embracing the beauty of
being scattered.
i hand over my vision
wholeheartedly,
taking deep breaths of
crisp mountain air.
and the world around me
disappears into white mist,
throwing me rare glimpses
of diffused colours.

in the space between
sunset and sunrise,
i carry on my illicit tryst
with the moon,
sneaking into dark alleys,
just to see her glow.