How the clouds introduce day,
brooding beasts or white in pristine play,
give notions of expectant ways,
for lives beneath that endless knowing sky.
And waking minds allay
the fears of restless dreams in night’s array,
when day smiles excitedly to say,
no time to dally, there’s much to be done.
But when those clouds attest the storm,
and darkness warns of the impending,
a mind relents on rising, torn between
the warmth of bed and cold scorn of day.
So warm the oblivion of dreams,
tucked well in layered schemes of comfort,
hoping for a sunlight saving grace, so sought,
when day smiles not and dim the plot.
Yet sometimes, regardless of smiles,
I rush to my waking shower fall,
to cleanse what ails me, to restore
this malaise that keeps me behind my door.
And lo and behold, that darkness clears and sun appears,
and all I wanted comes my way,
clouds at play and sun to clear my sullied mind,
hiding under blanket my decay,
when life awaits to make my day.
Tony DeLorger © 2017