WHAT SHIPS MAY COME
There's mist outside my window
blanketing the street with white,
And foreign shapes that struggle to be seen.
I am not one to break the silence
for even cars tread strangely muffled
Past the lifeless brickworks; gone, its gloried smoke and noise,
and only curling mist where where once a fire had been.
I am content to sit;
To watch the fallen cloud
that smiles back, and deepens only with the dusk.
The silence is not lost between us two,
but rather turns, and passes understanding
to a place where fire yet burns; the beachhead beacon shines
to guide - I know not who - to secret shores,
and pilot still what ships may come
to harbours calm, and oceans unexplored.
Reading this poem I thought the inspiration was more recent, last few days have been real pea soupers, and the cold I am currently suffering from is due to me being enticed into going for late night walks in beautiful mists. I really like this poem, the imagery is beautiful and although the structure feels a little clunky sometimes it seems to work, I guess maybe I am just a whore for strong rhyming. Described alot without saying too much, how a poem should be.
First off, thank you: to be compared in any way to Wordsworth Frost and Coleridge is beyond my ken. And to get a 'maybe it doesn't need to rhyme' from Snoink is high praise indeed!
Incidentally, it does have a rhyme scheme... just not a very regular one 
I thought I'd post this: it's rough, but it was the kind of scene outside my window that made me start to think about this.
Thanks again, guys.
Yes, it really is pretty. 
I would prefer a rhyme, but... maybe it doesn't need it. 
I really have nothing more to add other than what Caligula already said. The imagery here is great and you got some truly excellent lines here. You should try getting this published.
The first line made me think Frost.
after that a mix of Wordsworth, Frost, and Coleridge.
What beautiful imagery you have in such a compacted poem.
My favorite part was -
To watch the fallen cloud
that smiles back, and deepens only with the dusk.
The silence is not lost between us two,
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