Though charcoal clouds smudge the horizon And lumber closer, You hop through time in search of lightning and hail. You ***** through grass, searching by moonlight, for the lost crumbs of missing children.
Even in the morning dew are echoes of torrents to you.
Always hungry, ever seeking For the season's latest something: Flocks of cotton candy birds Or crystal flasks of stardust And other baubles of whimsy,
All to gouge out the malaise eating at you - To chase the ghosts of yesteryear, The specter of youth's potential, Hearkening back To when life still held meaning - And to elude the grasp of Despair.
For a floating spot of sand On this ocean of transient stars, You wish and wail, Though envy does not become you.
Storms do not chase other storms, Nor do they compete. So spin your tears into silk. Weave them into a tapestry. Look up and heed your calling, beautiful dreamer. You forget that you are a king.