Friday, October 29, 2010

The Second Skyline.

Over low-lying hill is a mountain tall,
Where the raindrops sit right before they fall,
And there they'll be,
Waiting to join the sea,
And cloud cover waits for another squall.

Over those hills looms a mountain gray,
It shifts and tumbles across the day,
And a cloud's skyline,
Moving with time,
Skirts the horizon like a mountain range.

Below peaking clouds swirl fog-dripping lakes,
High above us, their depths will break,
And over hills,
Raindrops will spill,
Back down to the earthen pools they make.

Light gray piles up on a blue background,
And  mellow peaks soften as the sun goes down,
And it's beyond reach, like
Watching ships from the beach,
Misty, distant, unreal, but close somehow.

Like a masterpiece painted right on the sky,
Where birds and landscapes are free to fly,
It's a cloud's skyline,
Moving with time,
And playing subtle games with my eyes.

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