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Tuesday, 6 March 2012

I don't know anything so i wrote a poem

The Sky

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,

WHY?



Well... Just think of the sky.