converging clouds create
a celestial ceiling
a disappearing of the sun's rays
an ominous feeling of the revealing
of the truth:
the world's been packed
into an intergalactic burlap sack,
taken—
and we are not coming back
world-napped—
never to be awakened.
kiss us, but
the prince is not handsome,
we are alone, so
no one will pay our ransom.

A brink of clouded moonlight
amongst oranges and blood-kissed red tucked away between headstones
with stories longing to tell

In the beginning the sky was cold butter,
hard and riddled with kernels of corn,
which, as the world heated, popped:
And thus the clouds were born.

i felt a presence as i walked
past its shadow between
restless sunbeams and
lazy dark patches

too small to fill a stadium and
too light to resist a breeze,
it could not muster the most
muted sigh of thunder

still, it singled me out from acres
of trees and multi-laid squares
of rooftop hide-aways

and followed—

to send a message of being
to an insignificant recipient

through a small break within
divided thoughts, into a brief
opening underneath—

a single drop, into a
downpour of
tears




"the cloud"
© 2008 by Seranaea Jones
all rights reserved

Don’t let that black cloud
Rain on you.
Don’t let it soak
Your hair and cloak.

Sometimes it’s okay
To experience the drizzle,
Most often times,
No.

Don’t let that black cloud
Eat you up.
Don’t let it flood your mind
Of things that you can’t rewind.

That black cloud is inevitable,
Even I can’t stop the horrible
Droplets to land on my face.

Know that you can do something about it.
You can open your umbrella
Or wear your hat if you will.

Most importantly,
Remember that there will be a shining sun
After this terrible, terrible
Black cloud storm.

Sometimes I just want to cry
For no other reason than the clouds in the sky