Castle

I built my castle in the clouds.

Brick by brick,

each charming rust-red dirt stone,

spicy,

cool and sinking and melting as I lift them.

I used to wonder how long it would take

for the moss to grow

and slather the stones into summer green.

I know green well-- she's everlasting,

natural, wise, 

and she makes herself present wherever there is life.

It comes with age,

and it comes anew.

Sometimes, I stand in the highest tower

and look down

and see that the only thing keeping me afloat is

sky.

They have always said that I will fall

but instead 

I drift in the wind.

My mother used to tell me stories

of how I was built up,

brick by brick,

sinking and melting into her arms

before I learned that my feet

could stand.

The clouds are not trustworthy, she said.

They fade and whisper,

egoistic, 

bright and wispy in song,

but only when they are happy.

When they are angry, they will storm,

and if you cannot hold on tight enough

you will be thrown down.

Look around, she said instead. Look around

and you will find that

the air that holds up your castle

is unchanging, and

it is your own.

Author's Note

Feel free to let me know what you think!