A cloudless sky

With nary a breeze

Is the way things ought to be.

According to you.

The sun burns the sky a permanent blue

The wind is in remission, not free to be expressive.

This is the way it should be, according to you.

Night is scorned.

The moon is made mockery of.

The wind howls, mourning loss of freedom, but

The cries are ignored.

Day isn't perfect, though. Clouds will mar the


Thunder shakes and questions the unanimous silence

Lightning dances, catching the unwilling eye.

You will want to dance with it.

Touch it. To feel its surge of life.

But you'll yearn for the sunny day you strive

To enjoy.

Wind will sing through the trees

Who applaud with leaves the triumph

Of freedom.

The sky will split. Rain will

Fall, tears of the earth, for your sake.

Even though you don't deserve.

You, desirer of mundane existence

You, scorner of variety

You, who burns for the sunny, cloudless,


Clouds part.

A promise is painted across

The sky. All will share

In the joy

Of its array.

Partly cloudy

Chance of rain

Expect a soft breeze