"Today my heads a little cloudy.
I don’t think it will rain though. "

A fog rolls in over my mind in the morning,
and I get lost when I think of anything but nothing.
The cities sharp shouts disrupt me, cutting
through my head as they call out their warning.
The clouds in this conscience turn angry, start storming
as all hell falls from them and the river starts flooding.
The ground shakes, quakes panic me with their thudding.
But at the back of my mind and idea is quietly forming.  
    It bursts through the clouds with sun by it’s side
like fist love beats through a young mans chest.
It fills every darkened corner with a passion that won’t rest.
It conceives hope, and like our mother nurtures pride.
And as the fog lifts my mind is free to quietly wander
through the landscape of our her- to reflect and to quietly ponder.