The cloud (a poem)

The cloud is a place where

Just Nothing resides,

Where the dreams don’t eat,

and the flowers

Will never grow to hope.

It is a place of endless grey,

Of hard-edged flint that

Jags your consciousness

Like being told that you’re

Unloved, and will remain that way

Forever, so just give up.

It is a discoloured smile,

A broken limb, set in an

Over-bright cast.

It is a fallen antique tree,

An out of tune ukulele,

A tear that refuses

To fall.

It is also an old friend.

Familiar.

Like you.

And now you two are

Together, and I am

Watching and praying,

For the sun

Once again.

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