The dark mist moves through, scanning the local tribe,
Looking for a weak person, pushing to imbibe;
The lost are found, preying on all that live on concrete,
The taste of despair is complete.
The white mist moves in, seeing some sun,
Browsing for stability, hoping to undo the overrun;
The lost are found, they sit in a communal circle,
Commanded by the patriarchal.
The dark mist persists, gives another shove with poppy insistence,
Targeting and delving, each moment less resistance;
The lost are found, flipped like a Razr, in gutters and subways,
This is all there is nowadays.
The white mist swells, believing in THE LIGHT,
Locating for recovery, and granting holy birthright;
The lost are found, the meek that try to repair,
And it's the small that will send goodness everywhere!
