Is it chronic or persistent the way they go?

Will today draw them fast or slow?

Thin and long, round and old

With graying sides and a picture show?

I see faces there of Hercules

or a fallen child with skinned up knees.

Never cornered or caged in

but simply molded by the wind

that blows my back and sets my sights

on things out of reach and a bit too high

 

So, “Its not fair”

the way things are and aren’t,

are words for smog filled cars.

Life beneath these boundless clouds

It’s clearer now