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Monday, June 5, 2017

The Abode of Clouds

No room for brown,
The soil is deep red,
Bright and dull at once,
Like blood of the Earth

The blood covered,
With the widest array of 
Greens you could imagine

No room for smog,
The skies are barely visible,
Through the shifting clouds,
Comfortable in their abode

The clouds separating
Into wisps, thin as sticks
Flit into man's abode
As though it is their own

-Poem Fanatic

2 comments:

  1. "Flit into man's abode, As though it is their own" So nostalgic and ephemeral but still powerful. Conquering clouds :)

    ReplyDelete

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