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