The fog

He stood and watched the fog approach
silently, with a natural stealth
it rolled toward him, and he stood and waited.

He reached out his hand,

touched the first wisps of vapor,
felt it on his fingertips,
cold, and wet, and empty.

Like his hopes, his life, his dreams.

There was no light, no sound,
there was the man, and the fog.

It caressed his cheek 
like his mother once had.
It damped his eyelids,
his cheek, his forehead.

It chilled him to the bone,
the touch of death, of nothingness.

It chilled him to his soul,
a dark place filled with memories and regrets.

The fog totally enveloped the man,
it was all he could feel and touch and smell.
And he welcomed it.

Within minutes the fog was gone
and with it, the man.