Buffy has certain difficulties with this metaphor stuff.
The yellow fog that rubs its back along the window-panes.
How are you supposed to tell? Poetifying pollution one thing; freaky mystical sentient weather? So a different story.
A waning moon was haunted by woman wailing for her demon lover.
Problematic. Lover probably actual demon; haunting maybe figurative? The moon being kind of barren as ghostly getaways go.
Then again, some poetry is pretty straightforward.
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed
So much for that paper due tomorrow; it's time to go stem the tide again.
1. The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, by T.S. Eliot
2. Kubla Khan, by Samuel Coleridge
3. The Second Coming, by W.B. Yeats