Clouds above,
Clouds below,
And clouds within,
Run wild
In a torrential ride.
Winds of time
Push them around
To help them find their place,
But clouds still race
Restless,
Like little woolen balls
That cats fail to chase.
Dancing above a bluish maze,
They often hang out
With the lonely sun.
Their blades of fur
Light up like fire then,
And tell every day apart –
The good ones
From the bad ones,
And fills hope where lies despair
With the icing of a silver lining
On your spoiled cake.
Like a sea above
That holds quiet waves,
They surge without a shore
To stop them.
Nothing can contain
The spread they ask,
They travel where they feel like going,
While we sit here
On the ground
Wondering about our chains.
A bed of blankets
Awaits tired men
To drop off their worldly weight,
And embrace the quilt
That promises to keep
The winter at bay.
When I feel down
I look up,
The lather of my soap
Talks about a new day.
With every wash
A new canvas arrives,
Ready to be smeared again.
Like a layer of cream
I could scoop to lick,
And taste home
Even if I were miles away,
I could then count
All nine of them
Dangling in my personal space.
A judgment cloud
Often hovers
With rains of doubt,
It thunders aloud –
“What lies ahead,
What doesn’t?”
But wait enough
And it passes too
Like your every day.
How often than not
Do we fail to thank
The man with the brush
Who paints them all,
And while he does
A whole herd
Of blind men,
Keeps moving.