Oh The Cloud Monologue

I’ve ne’er liked to write about myself

Not when there’s streams,skies, storms, songs, sunshine

And sonnets to write about the beautiful sound of a soft breeze blowing through a wind chime

There’s endless words to describe the haunting and comforting notes of music seemingly created by itself

The unknowable, unseeable composer, the artist with no body

I look up at the sky and see simple clouds, but they are so much more than that

Their grey sheets wrap me in their soothing silk as I watch them in wonder

The clouds can create who they are, we look at them and see objects of every shape and size, implausible yet real

Implausible, obscure, improbable, for the Birds

The Birds, oh the Birds how I wish I could be like them

With their feathers extended they see the world in ways we can’t perceive

I don’t want to be here No that’s not right it’s just that I wish I were not Myself

It’s too hard to live in a body that I either recognize in too great detail

Or have absolutely no concept of

I’ve become sick and Drained from looking in the mirror trying to find something, anything I can recognize

I suppose this is why I don’t like writing about myself

I have not yet mastered the ability to write about something (someone) I know little