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The ocean is not blue
The sky is
Who knew?
It was all our point of view
Clouds are not fluffy
Your eyes must be puffy
How would we know?
What exactly is snow?
Ice crystals that fall from a cloud
On to an unbothered crowd
deadhead Apr 27
the watercolor
clouds, they drift across the sky
paint the blue canvas
Martin Boško Apr 27
Lying in the garden
On the Earth’s green grass
Holding hands together
As we talk about the clouds
We study them and look for clues
Of what the future holds
We watch the fluffs, white on blue
Seeing shapes, a story told

We lie on grass until night
Relaxing in embrace
Having fun in the lovers’ garden
On Earth, the happiest place
The wind is playing with the trees
The sky is full of stars
We talk about what the other sees
And enjoy the lovely smell of grass
Brumous Apr 25
Your emerald eyes
pierced through the lavender moon
sheltered by blue
Second try on doing this :DD
Raven Feels Apr 19
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, stuck in crowds makes me yearn for the invisible:)

such a shame to wish the invisible

anymore not compromising with the ****** gone inevitable

doubt the crowd

all hate all loud

sprinkling poison drops in sounds

unmerciful on my exquisite highs of skied clouds

last night would never come past this already nor around

The Triple L Apr 14
I thank you, overcast,
Though so many hold you in contempt,
I say to you, dear friend,
Those who are unable to find it within themselves,
To pay you with the respect due,
Shall never find appreciation in our universe.

The glorious sunshine,
The melancholic rain,
The rampaging rage of the vicious storm,
The frost and fear of the seeping, invading ice,
None of them remind me that I am alive as much as you do.

For you remind me that not all is sunshine,
Not all is the chagrin of the rain,
Not all is storm and violence,
Nor is it the freezing embrace of death,
No, the extremities of the seasons, the encompassing grasp of the weather,
None remind me of the trials and tribulations,
The brilliance and horrors,
The humility of life,
The chance,
The pure,
Plausibility of my own existence.

It is you, overcast,
My dearest and most reliable companion.
It is you they shun,
For they describe you as boring,
And I say to you,
As I say to them,
The depiction is wrong.

Not everything is in the extremes portrayed by the weather,
Nay, life is full of boredom,
No one experiences life to its fullest,
And those who think otherwise are fooling themselves.

It is you,
The greyness,
The unmoving,
The boredom,
That reminds me I am alive,
And will continue to live for however long I have left.
I promise you this overcast, I will appreciate you, for you keep me breathing.
Written on a cloudy day.
LC Apr 14
at the end of the afterlife,
when the dust finally settles,
she climbs into a warm bed
made of soft, wispy clouds,
listening to lilting melodies,
from her childhood memories,
falling into a peaceful slumber.
#escapril day 13!
Sarah L Apr 14
the sky pulls its downy clouds
eastbound, up to her horizon,
for the spring is cold and
she is resting.

the sky, as cool as ice,
filters through the feathers,
hints of her just beyond
her night-darkened blanket.
the sky reminded me of putting a downy comforter up to the light.
Fey Apr 8
the sun dies gently behind the hills as I
wander through the pastel cloud’s apricot-nuance
with floating eyes of vacant iridescence.

and the sky lost all of its mighty blue,
now glimmering in a nonchalantly lilac hue
one could only describe as the universe spilled passion.

darkness manifests on the canvas of atmosphere,
its golden streaks devoured by mischievous glee
and we all sigh and finally close our eyes.

so that this journey remains all that we see.

© fey (08/04/21)
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