Poetry · Writing

Passive Feelings

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


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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