Cloud
It's black. It's white. It shades the night,
the harvest moon, the satellite.
Obscures the sun and drinks the heat,
no Mother Earth beneath its feet.
And passing through
it rains on me, it rains on me,
it rains on you.
Till on the wind it rides again
to shades of where the shadows fall,
the white winds call (called out again)
Unfettered. Wild. I'm like a cloud,
nobody's fool. Nobody's child.
No wrong. No right. No splintered light
falls to the ground. Into the night,
the falcon's flight is
silent. Broken. Crashing down,
fallen angel hits the ground, I
hit the ground running.
But here I'm dancing out of step,
And here I'm singing out of tune, and
here I'm speaking out of turn, and here
I'm baying at the moon. Silent
Angel. Fallen. Wild.
Nobody's son.
Nobody's saint.
Nobody's child.
--Gray Baldwin
Bookmarks
Share
Print
Save