While Living On the Clouds
Everything which
separates as useless
idealism,
everything, but
sleep of leaning
gooseberries
evaporates and
floats. The skies
collected all the
warmth and
sweetness.
And I am nothing
just a mere winged
ant,
which chose to drop
its wings and settle
on a fiber
of fluffy
nothingness. I'll
pass
through sun,
ignoring droughts of
ground,
while living on the
cloud is coldest.
The skies have
gathered all the
noise:
atop of gentle
blades of grass
it blows and drizzle
in small beads
of folly
bringing solutions
to the leaves.
Copyright © E. Ray | Year Posted 2014
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