Clouds

The Sea Stretches Out

I.
A sea of
rolling hills of clouds
dropping down to an
abyss of red sunset.

From white-blue to periwinkle,
indigo and navy,
a gradient of blues
makes up the sky.

The boarder between 

periwinkle and indigo

grows higher every second

as the sun rises

Until a haze, a long puff
of light clouds,
smooths the bright paints
to a pastel-washed landscape.

II.
Clouds rose and fell in their own hill-and-valley landscape.
Looking down in the valleys, smaller clouds, closer to the earth, fell away
like rocks off a cliff.
These small ones had let go of the sea above, leaving a hole suspended high above.
Then another whoosh, and it all disappeared behind another haze.
Dark periwinkle smothered the view in a blue-grey cover.
The sea is gone and it is just the morning sky once more.

III.
I want to be a cloud.
They float over the earth, just going with the natural rhythm of the wind,
wherever it calls them, without plans or duties.

They cry when they want to, yet dimple at will too.
They look down on every landscape know to man --
and some unknown.

They have no sense of time nor space.
They can be together or apart, but never for long.
And never lonely.

They have painted, upon their faces, a multitude of colours;
should they choose to be an angry sunset or a meloncholy haze.
They are always there, always reliable. Always, through thick and thin.

I want to be a cloud.