Clouds

This poem is just like watching clouds...

Crowding and clouding

and seas of blue-

but water was dry

and lost in the sky

so what am I to do?

Blasts of fire,

but its all so cold.

Sand trickles down my throat

and I'm growing old.

Still I don't know what to do.

Their speaking German

Italian and Dutch-

possibly some other tongue

that I just made up.

They live and they're rolling

and so f*****g high.

I'm here and I'm sleeping

a warriors cry.

As tears become trickles

and rains become pours

I still have to wonder

why's that girl on all fours?

As sky starts to break down

miraculous and vague

I still have to wonder

have I got it made?