How often do I look up
into the sky and think
Ah, the sky mimics me today.
And how boldly that sky mimics
that skulking sky cynic
how I believe
how I feel
how I worm, struggle, squeal inside.
Brain open wide and look up.
See who you are looking for,
it is your one true self glowering down
How can this be denied?
But how is this verifiable then verified?
For which came first?
Your feelings or the sky?
Are the two independent or interdependent?
Quite a conundrum-
a dizzying puzz that is not so hum-drum.
If I were the sky,
I believe I would be culpable even guilty,
this is the verdict I'd surmise.
Yet, still how odd
to base a world invested upon
whatever lies above as I struggle down below.
Yet is there a solution to this kind of disillusion,
I don't quite know how I can not keep from staring there
up in the air.
The horizon is always looming
here and there.
Lurking near within the picture frame of
Even the sky surrounds at night,
and soothes or eases, only when it pleases
itself and in the latter, us.
The sky and its stars
how they tease and make a fuss,
and move us and our imaginations and make wishes
for our only hopes.
We can be such silly dopes,
to look to pin our futures
to other horizons, but not to the one within.
The sky can be a trickster
and bare a grudge or hold a whim.
But I must see the inner one
where my own earth meets sky
warmed by an inner sun
and plant myself there a fine new seed.
I will make of myself what
I will be.
And what I have imagined.
Copyright December 4 2011, Sunday All Rights Reserved By The Author
Melissa A Howells/////// Meloo of Tilt-a-World