Writing 210 Challenge, Day 5.  Word:Fog, Style: Elergy, Device:Metaphor

Originally requiring specific meters, nowadays elegies come in all shapes and sizes, though they are united by their (often melancholic) focus on loss and longing.

Today’s form, the elegy, can trace its history all the way to ancient Greece. It started out as a poem that could be about almost any topic, as long as it was written in elegiac couplets (pairs of verse, with the first one slightly longer than the second). Over the centuries, though, it became something a bit more specific: a (more often than not) first-person poem on themes of longing, loss, and mourning.



When I could come and

I could go

When every movement

Wasn’t slow

When still alive I had

A friend

And never thought of

Journey’s end

When I decided who

I’d meet

Or simply what I’d have

To eat

When choices made were

Always mine

When I decided what

Was fine

I was an eagle

Soaring free

And no one tried to

Limit me

Now age has taken that


And in this place I’m doomed

To stay

My thoughts float through

A Fog of time

From dark, dark days to

Times sublime

Scrambled and mangled I don’t

Really care

Because in all the muddle

Freedom is there.


Author: macmsue

I’m a sister, wife, mother, grandmother, auntie and friend. I prefer to be outside and am interested in photography, nature and different cultures. I believe everything on this earth has a right to be here but some things and some people would be happiest if their space was far away from mine. (Flies and biting bugs take note!) I don’t like housework and think dust is Nature’s way of saying, “This is my space, I was here first.”

7 thoughts on “Fog”

  1. Reading this is like floating on a cloud. All you say is so familiar, and the last line is particularly resonant. We pick up so much baggage along the way, and we lose so much and yet the approach of old age can offer an amazing feeling of freedom. Wonderful poem!Thank you for sharing.

  2. Thanks so much for your wonderful comment. As my dad’s short term memory faded I loved hearing so many stories from his past, I felt they were genuine compensatory gifts.

  3. Your poem so much made me recall my step dad and my uncle, both in the same dimentia wing, one for Parkinsons disease and the other aging. This has more depth than might be seen at first by those who haven’t had close experiences with people losing their freedom and abilities. I’ll be writing my poems this weekend, I haven’t posted any yet.

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