I lay awake drifting in and out
on a severed cloud barely a spec of fluff left.
Left leg swinging, arms behind thy head, watching-
watching the stars tell a story of time never heard by ears
never passed along on pen or tongue.
Stories of heroes, stories of the heroes that conquered the land above.
Stories of thee earnest, thy great descendants watching me
as I beg for an encore, they close their curtains.
Stories of love, the ones close enough to the sun to feel
stranded
on a cloud begging for the ropes to hold tighter
to hold longer in the grip of the tale to hear thee end.
To learn, to ride the sun, it burns the worst
it’s the truth I promise-
the real thing it is, not passing by
circling like a vulture waiting for death,
on a cloud below.
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