The sky is neither made of colour nor texture
It is boring plain as the eye can see
A boring everyday feature that we constantly sin
The snow, the rain, the snow and the rain
It is distraction from class
A dream from life
For some exists heaven
For less exists chemicals and gases and fluorescents
We gaze and marvel at statues
Paintings and buildings and other still figures
We stare into the depths of night forgetting that it is in fact
The same scene you were cursing at for its tears
We forget more than just the water we forget the life
The clouds swirling like the curls of a new born’s hair
Have you ever seen a building change on its own?
Rhetorical view, don’t answer.
The sky is passing, never leaving.
The sky is a sunset a million miles away, a warzone a million more.
We go from sky to sky searching for a better sky but it’s the same
Never changing, just re-arranging
The sky is the same as the one you seek somewhere else
It’s the northern lights, the wind the rain the hail,
The sun, the stars and the fireworks
Through the clouds and quirks there’s a sky
So next time you spend an "hour" curling your hair
Open your window and screech,
Well... Just think of the sky.