Children of Fog

Under the glassy lens of the abyss

if one were to look, it's hard to miss

the faintest whispers from the deep

words, so quiet, that seem to creep

and crawl their way beneath your skin

like the call of the beggar dripped in sin;

for down in the waters so long and cold

play the children of fog, their laughs so bold.

Look where the children of fog sit,

their lungs full of anger, their heads full of wit;

with gnarled hands and gnashing teeth

as their slimy heads slipped beneath

the crested waves that ebb and flow

as ripples from the sides do grow.

See how their bodies glide in the froth,

silently floating like a simple moth

caught in the crosswinds of some unseen storm;

it's been years since their hands have ever been warm.

With eyes glazed over with the fog of night

it seems it's been ages since they last saw the light.

Skin greyed with cold reach of the water

Their voices so sweet, leading men to slaughter

Calling and crying deep into the dark

their voices so lilting as an early morn lark.

Once a gentleman, heedless of the the warnings

unhitched his boat from its usual moorings

and sailed to the middle of that fog covered lake,

where the children of fog were waiting to take

his soul from his body, tear it apart

and gobble it whole like a sweet little tart.

For hours and hours he fished without care,

until he felt a strong tug, and pulled unaware

that the children of fog had gripped that hard line

with nasty clawed fingers, all covered in slime

until he was yanked over the side of the ship

and his body slid down deep into the drip.

And the children of fog with their teeth flashing,

at his flesh and his eyes, their fingers were snatching,

every inch of his body was ripped full apart

as the creatures devoured his unhidden heart.

Silently still they lay in wait

under the surface of the lake for your soul to take.

Beware the children of fog my dear,

for it is unwise to swim without fear.