If this is the last sky I see
tell the clouds to taunt me not
and bring you here to me
If only as an apparition rare
cascading locks, sweet fragrant hair
our fingertips shall meet mid air
a final twirl
some whispered prayer
a serenade of stale despair
I’m roused from this tragic play
a key fumbles in the lock
you fade away
These prison bars will only hold
my remnant dreams or memory bold
for when the noose is snapping
my soul shall soar
with ne’er a thought
Would you let me paint the clouds for you?
long, languid strokes
over fading azurite blue
with cosmic brush dipped to ferrule
heavy with heaven
dabbing ashen shadow
betwixt amber wisps
and tranquil towering iced tufts
a masterpiece bestowed
for my melancholy muse
I have the great fortune of living in the sky, many floors high. Gazing West.
Every evening I observe an ever changing, dynamic interplay of currents that toss and tickle the layers of clouds. Celestial exhalations like God’s soft breath create unique patterns. Another beautiful sky tonight. Be mindful of nature’s exquisite elements.
Consider the sky.