I find myself looking at the clouds,
Every other day or so.
Are they really white,
Or grey like a stone?
If they are white,
Oh how majestically bland.
With their flat covering texture,
Or misshapen bands.
If they are grey,
They promote nothing much.
Float around without purpose,
Lifeless as all clouds are.
Two colors of clouds,
Why do I question it?
Existential crisis,
Over things I shouldn't investigate.
Is it really about the clouds?
My question makes me wonder,
Do I really need to know,
What gives these clouds their color?
YOU ARE READING
Who is He?
PoetryA look inside my tattered mind. All of these are original poems written by me in various moods of my life.
