A dreamer's always in the clouds.
Most duly have no wonder;
that up there, that is where they can
be free and deeply ponder.
But dreamers up within the clouds
don't choose the sky for naught;
it's where they drop their normal smiles
and emotions weakly fought.
The sky is always filled with a
radiance of scheduled sort;
so different from the land below,
anger high and temper short.
Expectations, realities,
those don't exist up there;
rather, you are truly free to cry
over problems you don't share.
There's nothing wrong with keeping secrets,
dreamers tell themselves;
so they lodge them back, no care, no how,
back on that jam-packed shelf.
The clouds are soft, and close, and high
above all other shoulders;
leaning becomes easier,
as well as silence colder.
It's where dreamers may fall asleep,
and imagine something warm;
their own worlds seeming somewhat real,
the real world sharply shorn.
It's where they are allowed to scream,
be mad and savage, real;
destroy something in difference to
the wonderful things they build.
And while they like the presence of
the sky, the clouds, the stars;
it will never be compared by them
to the beings seen afar.
And that's why dreamers muse alone,
and their thoughts are kept so close;
as well as all their secret likings,
their biggest joys and woes.
Having their heads up in the clouds
was never a fond choice;
but it's where they are allowed to speak,
it's where they have their voice.
Human beings may not see longing
through their haze of want;
so dreamers stay up in the clouds
and think of what they're not.
You may think it's deeply lonely,
or sad, or dumb, untrue;
but being with the clouds is best.
I know it.
And you do, too.
YOU ARE READING
Feathers: A Book of Poetry
PoetryA pencil is the spotlight of a soul. It tells them its okay to overflow. It tells them ideas are art, and that the best ones are masterpieces. Feathers is a collection of poetry by me to convey the beauty and undeniable strife of the world, and emot...
