it's funny how the sky mimicks
some souls
the broken ones, the lonely
the fearful and the cold,
the grey clouds drift by
as the clock ticks, they fill the sky
go wherever the breeze blows
they pour out their everything
a shower here, some lightning there,
left dreadfully empty
they slowly start to disappear
gone, not remembered, just gone

most of the lives below are thankful,
a few are sad, but soon move on.

Its funny how the clouds mimick my soul.