drinking from grounded reflections
of a flightless sunset
who casts mirages set in stone,
daydreaming clouds alone
punctuate skies in perfection
as much as in sweet regret.

smeared upon the flat face of the sky,
forming withered smiles,
a cirrus in august breathes,
meandering through leaves
who whistle and sigh with our nigh
ending dreams juvenile

and scales of gray and gold evade
questions asked from below,
instead recalling masses
who cloak skies in ashes,
a stratus, nature’s renegade
and need, who drowns wholesome glows.

so idle passions retire
as the uncertainties
which animated our dreams
are doused in conscious streams
and with life ignite a fire
kindled within fantasies

spending hours reading the still clouds
wavering only when
our eyes are cast far away.
draped curtains steal last days.
so time drowns, a voice in a crowd
not unlike myself back then