Cloudy

Marbling of shades, shadows, and light,

Made of wispy hands and crooked haze,

As slow as rocks and twice as grey,

As fast as sails skimming the waves.

There are faces leering down upon us,

As kind, as judgmental, as sneering,

And then they are wiped away by the wind,

Like a scythe in the wheat field clearing.

There are cracks of light promising blue,

There are horizons of purple, orange, and pink,

A bumpy kaleidoscope of colours hidden,

One to make you wonder and think.

On cloudy days and chilly mornings,

You can be just as bitter and cold,

But past the heavy grey and the abysmal black,

There is a clear sky bleached in heavenly gold.