The Observer

The Observer So maybe the stars aren't as bright and my eyes don't shine like the past. Enticing are the stars, infinite in the sky. They are the closest thing to magic within sight. We may never reach them but that alone grabs our attention. Then the clouds look so white but in an instant can dim down to a dark gray. White clouds are intriguing because we may never touch them and they never are what we imagine them to be. The moon is our only light when skies go black. Reflections on a river save us from night terrors. And we hear of the people who walked on the moon. "Heroes to science" we think. And the skies may not be clear today or tomorrow. The world may feel tilted on it's axis. You're foundation may crumble and you're future may shatter. A hurricane may wreak havoc without remorse. You mustn't chase storms in hopes they will recover. You mustn't walk into Hell if you realize there may be no returning. And you may have reached rock bottom. You're dignity feels like vapor but solidify hope in yourself that you will be the storm to recover, the one to touch the clouds, the dreamer to catch the raining stars. Stars aren't rare to the human race. Success isn't unheard of. Clouds aren't always gray. The world may return to equilibrium. And when Hell knocks, you know not to answer. And when you chase storms, you'll stop and turn around. The pieces left behind the storm become materials for the next great success.