I want to be an ant that is simple yet resourceful
I want to be a butterfly which is beautiful to look at but hard to catch
I want to be humming bird to detect sweetness in human
I want to be a fish that keeps moving with the flow…

I want to be towering rocks which is so durable and brave
I want to be the glorious rainbow which rarely occurs but leaves its marks besides
I want to be crisp wind that leaves its fragrance wherever it travels
I want to be captivating clouds that wanders alone …

I want to be wondrous rainfall that might be noisy but the hopes of many
I want to be the moon that brightens in darkest hour
I want to be verdant forest that is home to many
I admire nature because it is pleased with simplicity.

Rigid, impasto clouds
Stick out of the sky
Like Van Gogh
Put them there himself
Sky peaking between
Buildings and towers
Pushed and pulled
Twisted and ripped apart
Like fabric tearing slowly
Moved by the breeze
Invisible currents slicing
A silent cacophony of air
I reach up and feel
Solid, dried paint crackles
Under my finger tips
I pull my hand away
Digits stained white and blue and gray

Shifting streets and their buildings
Pulsing and moving and shaking
Jagged and prickly corners
Edges of windows glint
Like drops of blood
On the edge of a sword
Walls and sidewalks
Rough like a giant cat's tongue
The skyscrapers carve the landscape
Into a distorted forest
An amalgamation of today
And yesterday and the day before that
I reach forward and feel
I pull back in shock
Fingers pricked and knees scraped

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 clear sky?
When was the last time I saw a clear sky?
I cannot think of the date
The feeling that day is faint.
I’ve grown accustomed to cloudy skies
The day begins with a haze and ends the same.
I see the clouds twist into shapes
I wish I could daydream about beautiful things
Instead,
I see faces above tormenting and sneering
I feel those sneers in the minds of my peers.

I have lost touch of what is true
Is your sky blue?
Do others have a rain cloud above their head?
Can you see the stars at night?
Or are they hidden for you too?

When the clouds won’t part,
I keep my feet on the ground,
And I try to remember what keeps them there:
I’ve grown thankful for the days it does not rain
I try to be thankful for the release those stormy days bring,
I want to be thankful for those who weather the storms with me.

But I cannot remember the last time I saw a clear sky.
Some days, it feels less cloudy than others,
Yet the mystery remains.
A clear sky?
I see it for a moment when I look in her eyes.
I see it for a moment when I see my art on the stage.
I see it for a moment,
But the moment has yet to stay.

I wouldn’t mind
If the sky was always grey.
I don’t mind empty days
Full of slow background music
And the clicking of keys.
I wouldn’t mind
If the light that came through my window
Were always pale and clouded.
Should I mind?
Most people do.
I guess I wouldn’t mind
If I just wasn’t like most people.
So, I could just say,
“Sky, I wouldn’t mind
If you were always grey.”
But, it’s pointless to say
For, over your natural blue
I’ll always prefer the grey.