• Clouds are the song
    of the winding road,
    that leads
    to the orange lit sun,
    who burns the grass
    that fought so hard
    to rise up out of
    the sweet smelling dirt,
    that warms my face
    when I fall
    to the ground.

    Slow beats of my heart,
    turning in circles,
    soft blue swishes
    on the pale floor
    to the melody
    of the clouds.

    Blue envelopes
    my fears
    with the crash
    of the waves,
    pounding at the door
    of soft rock
    that leads to the green
    and wild daisies that smile
    at the orange-yellow sun
    through breaks
    of the wispy clouds,
    making faces
    at the window
    of my road.