Feathered Clouds

Once again they scatter; a whirlpool of randomness.

Lazy, searching eyes drift across and rest,

On a form akin to avian wings.

Concrete soothes my back, firm and still,

High, surrounding walls bind me to a world unreal,

A world of queens and kings.

Wings they were, no doubt; what use were wings to clouds?

I gazed and wondered from the highest part of my house,

Wondered at the subtle tease.

Somewhere deep inside, a promise was made,

That of great heights; a skyscraper built in a head,

One that won’t be ascended with ease.

Yet come down, I must, and so must those clouds,

But they will have had the gaze of a million crowds,

Gazes of awe, from people aroused.

Gentle panic sets in, dampened by thoughts of people,

The majority; who think they see,

But are yet to look beyond the concrete beneath me,

The highest concrete of the house.

Once again they scatter; a whirlpool of randomness,

Lazy eyes observe the mess, the wings were gone,

There I rested on the terrace, till the day was done.

(A tribute to Pink Floyd)