The Girl in the Mist

 

She waits patiently every day

At the corner of the road, 

Hoping someone would notice.

Maybe see her faded silhouette, 

Believe that she really is alive.

She is not a speck of dust and wind, 

Conjured by the all engulfing cloud.

Neither a spectre, now here, 

Now shrugged away in disbelief, 

As the blood stops flowing in

Their veins, their faces pale from fear.

'Look at me. I'm standing here, 

Watching the cars go by me.

Every day I stand here, 

At this bus stop where people 

Move on to newer destinations.

Won't you stop to give me a ride?'

But no one does. No one believes 

She exists at all. No one hears

Her silent frustration, her tired calls.

Is she a figment of imagination,

A castle wall, a fool's paradise?

Is she a tortured soul, beckoning 

Unsuspecting men into unsuspecting lies?

No one knows who or what she is.

She is the one who doesn't exist, 

The one that can never be described, 

Because words can't capture 

What is never really missed.

The girl in the mist disappears 

As you speed away so fast ahead.

And you look in the rear view mirror, 

To see nothing, just a hazy white memory, 

Of ephemeral smoke hidden inside the head.