Dancing Between Skies

I like the sky, it's always promising something. It's a soothsayer for eyes scanning up, for signs, traces and lines of reassurance. It carries fragments of yesterday, It continues its theme, but twists on cue to change its scene in hue of clouds churning in stir of witches brew. I look at the sky to fly, above the quagmire and monotony of my daily plot, grounded. Up there I see the script in clouds, drifting like vanes to wind's direction. Recalling how to dream on cue, to believe again in happenstance, carving the way forward, with a longing for change, unexpected. The sky writes in gold, then smears it gray. It promises calm, then whisks it away. It quells its brush to hush before thunder resounds. It gives no answer when we beg for rain. Won't stop before we go insane! I look sky high for change, in hope for delivery.