Inside the Fog

From the fog,

The voices called.

All strangely compelling,

none quite human,

They creep and crawl about,

Wraiths pulled from the past,

Swirling deep behind the could bank,

Their voices call to me,

They know the trap is sprung,

My wandering heart,

Won.

Their cold, damp, arms reach out to me,

Dripping with gauzy fog,

Their eyeless  piercing gaze,

Their all perceiving gaze.

Reaches down, deep, dark,

Inside.

Their magnetic force draws me,

But as all things that attract so strongly,

might soon repel me.

I reach as a child to the pale reflection

Of the moon,

The purest painting.

But, as the breath of some living thing

Brushes against the water,

The moon shivers,

The voices quiver,

The spell is broken,

I sit back on my heals,

Strangely attracted but definitely repelled.

I know why, 

My wandering heart was searching for heaven,

Not hell.