I still dream of greyer skies
And wake up sighing
I can’t help but feel
That they are calling.
I don’t want to go
Along with the flow.
The sky is calling
Her wanderer home.
Outside the sky is shining
I look up crying
Wondering if or when
The sky is going
To spit me out again
I don’t want to go
Along with the glow.
The sky is stalking
Her outlaw alone.
This sky or that,
Rainy or bright,
Watches over my
Various escapes
Escapades and
Fills the lakes of
My desire to be
Somewhere freerer,
Somewhere safer,
Somewhere unmired
From the higher power
That sits up there
Gathering dust
And prayers.
Heaven knows,
They are one
And the same.
In the burning
And the rain.
“Sky! Hide me!”
I command or call.
But the sky is silent
I look up.
It looks down.
It replies
“The watching is all.”
I don’t want to go
Along with the show.
The sky is watching
Her subject belong.
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“The watching is all.” …tends to be the way of much of the world.
Ain’t that the truth, my friend! Happy New Year…hopefully!