It rains heavily
on those who do not
wonder,
even in the slightest bit,
on how the sky cries
when it is up so high.

There will be nothing left
of the clouds once the sky
finally realizes that the illusion
of the horizon is its only hope
of kissing the earth.

Its only way of reaching
the beloved
is the way that it cries
when there is no hope
left in the scarlet pinks
of the sunrise.

The Earth will continue
to grow in the sadness
of the sky,
and he will continue to
weep and moan
in the way that thunder
roars and shouts.

The sky rains.
The sky will reign.