I glare at the clear and unbroken sky,
its blue a hue that made young girls weep
as they gazed into some unattainable stranger's eye;
I am grass greener than sin
chewed by cattle older than time
and as I sway to any trickling wind
I point accusingly at that clear and unbroken sky
because it shunned away the clouds
with their heavy weeping cargo of life
with their voluptuous bodies that would cushion the chariot
as it stops at ninety degrees from my weeping skin;
I am a bird lost on the canvas
as the backdrop is wiped clean when the chariot thunders past
and, blinking, I gaze helplessly -
for I am as young as this moment -
into the clear and unbroken sky.