I love a sunrise on a cloudy morn,
so why does everyone scream for clear skies?
Would anyone miss the shapes of clouds torn
or how the sun passes through like a sigh,
looking down from his place in the heavens?
Why should I long for this pane of deep blue,
a solid mass, so flat, so unleavened?
Give me instead this many shaded hue
these shredded bits of torn up fantasy.
O, let them be the subject of my rhyme,
gentle reminders loving beauty,
memoirs that God has said, “once upon a time…”
These
gentle elements of dream holding
our
horrors at bay. Let these forever sing.
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