Often, my sky is as empty as a beggers hand on a forgotten street.
And often, immensity, with its inviting promise,
leads to a world that yearns to burst free from physicality.

Sometimes, the space above is shrouded in grey.
And chances of blue or even a tempting glimpse, are smothered.
‘Breathe in’, I tell myself, ‘breathe in’, and the next moment surely, will outdo the last.

Surely and hopeful is the way. The day, saturated in the most loving sun.
It is ours you know. Your’s and mine, to take and spill, but never contain.
Infinity above our thoughts, above our heads, all around and in our hearts.

But, I presume to know the unknowable.
Your heart is your own, in a quadrillion years,
I could never gauge its course.

Todays best new poem was written by Christopher Marsden.


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One thought on “Clouds

  1. I appreciate how your ode to clouds is truly that! Not an embodiment of prose pretending to enjoy the wisps then secretly bowing to the sky! Nor is it the attempt to quash the rain in reverence to the castles above! bravo!

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