White, heavy smoke rolls into the room stretching its finger like wisps.
I'm hit with the familiar smells of cozy cedarwood and warm apples.
The white wisps swirled, rising in the room
Morphing clouds into [smiling] shapes
of images of long ago.
*should the word "smiling" stay?
YOU ARE READING
Through the Fog: Collection of Poetry
PoetryPoetry using imagery to express heavier themes. Poems will be added as the inspiration hits. 12 in original poetry 2 in book of poetry