Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
David Adamson Nov 2015
5
Beneath a solitary cloud,
I try to imagine
Its hunger for solid form.
It is trapped in its becoming,
Blown along in a captivity of chaos.
I weigh the blessings of confinement
Inside the body’s slower entropy.
Posted earlier, but somehow not appearing in newsfeeds.  Reposting.

— The End —