Clouds

Clouds

Today,
my earth is wrapped in greys.
Clouds cover all my skies;
greys cover the sun, cover the earth,
dampen down my sight;
grey coats my sighs.

The world is moisture heavy,
like my eyes—
dimly peering out
through blinded windows,
searching for my Lord,
in a great big building—
where aging folks (like me) pay dearly
for our daily room and board.

Fading into faltering faith
upon a bed—not mine—
caught within vast teardrops
shed for prisoners of time,
breathing in the stale air, I wait.

Outside—
beyond my view of bricks—
out there—through dusty window glass—
where lilac-heavy-air
caresses opening-iris toward lavenders and golds,
where tulips stretch up towards the sky,
where pear-trees bloom white
and apples blossom pink,
can welcome in this gray-wet heavy air,
countless flowers gently spread their petals—
waiting for spring honey bees,

Outside—is out of bounds for me today.
My body’s weak. Inside I stay.

Thus captured in this present time,
encapsulated under glass,
bound within brick,
re-warped and now restrung,
wings closed,
protected  from tear, from rage,
from hotly helpless beating
against the walls of system’s cage—
I watch.

Inside a stranger’s home—
that’s ruled by younger minds,
some, with small respect for age,
where most (not all) —are kindly blind —
I wait and watch.

In this hard land,
it’s stranger still to find
that I’m still me
and God is here
at times, most laughingly—
in peace and promise
and always love.