Listen to poem:
Eyes Cry at Cloudy Skies
My burning red raw, bloodshot eyes,
strain expectantly, under reluctant skies,
counting fingers, with tearful sighs,
longing for sunbeams, to defiantly prys,
open cracks in gray clouded sunrise.
An eye soon cries when a spirit expires,
lowering a curtain over its own demise,
knowing that gray clouds, in soft disguise,
conceal a heart, where storm rage resides.
We can’t grasp, retrieve, or analyze,
every drop of tear that fate applies,
or drown out our faltering hopeful smiles,
with splattered stings, spat from leaden skies.
Let's stride forward beyond what woe betides,
that arise from seeing skies cloudy at sunrise,
to cherish every moment, without compromise-
as bearers of gifts that bring joyous surprise.
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