poetry

Clouds; a poem

We are high on fairy tales and twinkly lights.The clouds are our solid ground now.

We will ignore the earth’s demand that we sacrifice our insanity to it.

But only when the sky is too clear to dance in will we fall down rabbit holes looking for a place to grow.

And only when the lightning starts to crack will we feel at home. When our chaos knocks on our door and we reek our favorite havoc and find that it can not stand on its own two legs, then we will see that thunder is not all that it is cracked up to be. That sometimes familiar is a conniving deceit that we do not perceive as threatening.

Until, of course, we fall through clouds.

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