Skies

 Clouds

  

I own two passions now: watching clouds and 

writing words. Hours fly courting clouds, writing 

poems in my mind, for what are clouds and words 

but poets' fuel to warm their souls upon?

Cirrus, stratus, cumulus or mare’s tail; 

in such clouds, words seem lazy, hazy, nebulous

and misty to my mind; there are no lines 

to read myself between, I can only 

go within and listen to their whispers.

Words are scudding sounds of speech when spoken, 

but silent when written, except to my

heart where they can speak in volumes, or, when 

days are sadly overcast, they hide from 

me and say nothing, nothing at all.

 

Cait O'Connor