A blanket of cloud

A blanket of cloud, low, low, low,
claims the right to traverse the sky
and it moves with the wind
like a devil would run
away from the wrath of the righteous.

But it fragments and breaks and loses itself
like a babe plucked too soon from the womb
and leaves in its wake the faintest of trail
only the wise can follow.

Not wise and yet I see what’s been lost
through the haze of a million tears
for who cannot cry at the split of a heart
and the break of a mind’s solid base?

The cloud rolls on seemingly unaware
like a man turns away from a woman
in search of himself in prosperity
and not in a woman’s eyes.

And I shade my eyes here on the ground
lest I shatter illusions of greatness
in the showing of what I perceive
by the grace of the wisdom in me!

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