The clouds do not hear us,
yet we wish and gaze upon them-
from the comfort of our seats, we float alongside them,
free of the reality that binds us-
in our hearts we drift with them,
free of the past that clings to us-
in our minds, we are one with them,
willing, able, and independent-
the clouds have carried many of my dreams-
some have been lost within their ample tufts-
others have been carried home-
while others still have been stolen and have
never been returned to me-
up high they remain, scattered amongst
the expectations of all dreamers-
it’s a kingdom up there, high, and rich
and majestic-
a powdery mass of anticipation, of hopes,
of fragile imagination-
how many cares have I sent into them-
how many problems have they absorbed,
and hopes have they digested-
how many wishes have been kissed into
their masses and rained back down upon us
as a collection of liquid aspirations?
I think these things as I look up into them*

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