Storm clouds sound their gongs aloud,
call the whole world's attention to the ensemble
of tall,dark,handsome actors lined up for a
performance spectacular
Lightening gives cryptic signals at times,
of the change of scene,rain lashes with a sweet vengeance,
till the clouds relent,and go light and white.
The cloud theater had it's ritualistic culmination,
the expectation of imminent plenty soars,
rushing streams fill gushing rivers that get
swelled,roar delighted all the way to ocean

Crimson leaves were being
Shy, soon would die falling
For you.

I was so sure
You were somewhere between
Yellowish grass, gloomy clouds
Old traffic lights, Rusty road signs

The wind smelled
The scent of autumn,
Brought you from the sky
Upstairs, waving
And me, smiling

The first mist you meet
You'll meet the guardians of the river,
The second mist you meet
You'll meet the clouds from oceans far,
The third mist you meet
Be prepared to meet your maker
For the final mist may send you
Back to river, or to star.

The snow,
  Whirls,
Spins,
And turns;
Shapes in the air.
A floating, flowing, fluidity;
Such substance in something
   So diaphanous.
           A performance,
          Just as magical as
     The starlings
They had watched
At dusk
By the pier.

      Swooping
         And gliding
     The birds
  Danced in the darkening sky.
  That erratic black cloud;
  Morphing, flowing, conjuring...
        Forming new dimensions
          While the glowing sun
               Balances precariously,
                   Poised on the edge of the world
                                                              And then
                                                                            Sinks,
                                                                         Into the sea,
                                                                        Leaving pink
                                                                     Goodbye kisses
                                                                       On the clouds.
  Now,
Two figures are
Stood by the window,
Looking out and
Watching
  The crystal dust drift
   Within the flow of the wind.
      A giant ghost's display of ballet;
         Spinning, twisting, turning...
                                  Leaning on each other
                                In silence,
                                In the darkness,
                               The skies' cold ashes
                               Sparkle
                             In the night,
                       Under the rays of the artificial
                    Street light
                      Outside.

Soon the train will leave the station,
Get further and further away...
Settling in the west for longer than a day.
Swallowed by the horizon.
Physics in the way.
                                                          She will freeze her face
                                                          And wave,
                                                          Borrowing a stoic's smile,
                                                          Safely held together,
                                                           Until within the veil
                                                           Of the warm taxi home,
                                                            Her eyes
                                                            Melt.

Do not expect a linear path
Nor a strictly circular one
Though you meander one foot to the next
In cyclical, somewhat predictable rhythms.
Do not expect clouds to behave,
Mountains to hold,
Or branches to grow.
Do not expect bridges to stand the test
of time that even trees cannot.
Do not expect your golden shot today
to hold your interest next go round the wheel.
Do not expect a clear and simple reward.
Rather, take what you can,
Whenever you can,
Drink it in,
Make it a part of you
For the next go round.

I      am      
          a      soul            
                bound.    Who
                          sows    seeds                
                                 of   creativity    
                      
                                                    in   order                      
                                                  to     grow              
                                             a        field
                                      of      hope            
                             from    walking                                
                  on    clouds...                        

           To      the
     realm    of
          dreams,    I
                 walk    through!
                              I     see
                                       it,      too.
                                               Through     a
                                             book    which
                                           sews  an    
            
            adventure       with
      words   and
  words    need
no        wings
         for         they
                can         soar
                               for        a

                                   thousand    thousand
                                                  miles...
                                                        For       as
                                                               far          as
                                                        the          light
                                                   can      touch.
                                         For      as
                               far      as

                  the       air
         can     reach.
   My    fingers
   paint    the
          sky     red
                     and    blue.
                                                  
                                               My      feet

                                                     pave        a  
                                                              bridge    of
                                                                    clouds  where
                                                                    no    man
                                                           can    reach
                                                 unless  you're
                                         bound   like

                                  I        am.

                          Above       and
                  beyond    the
        purple    skies
    and     the
emerald    tides.
    Above    and
        beyond     the

                   Golden     Sun
                            and     sense
                                      outrun
                                           Light     pierces
                                                 shrouds    and
                                                     feathers    descend.
                                                      A      world
                                                where      I
                                
                                           my        
                                   will
                      &n