There are clouds congregating

Towards the North,

But look towards the South,
And the sky is so fucking blue

You can hardly stand to look at it,

Eyes darting back and forth

Between the cover of the clouds,

And the cobalt sky,

Too blue of a burden to bear

For more than a few moments at a time,

So you glance skyward,

Soaking in the Heavens,
Then you cast your gaze back down again,

The greens and ochres of the terrestrial world seeming to pale

In comparison that that cerulean sky,

The bluest blue you can think of,

Then bluer still.


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A poet driven by the quill, a dreamer of impossible dreams, a lover of that which the world has deemed unlovable. We're all stories in the end. This is mine.

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