The Cloud

The thing to which we sit and ponder,

To sit up on a cloud and wander,

To the place you can not see,

But treasure oh so deeply,

Close, close, close at hand,

A quiet, peaceful land.

This is not where I walk with man,

For he has a much different plan,

I tear to think he will not take my hand,

Planned! Both of us to this land,

Should he not at least see my face,

As we pass through a common place?

He will not look.

If he could only spare a moment,

I could but gain my atonement;

Not to bow to he who shall not see,

But to stand higher than ever could he,

If it is your eyes I can meet,

It is not me you should beseech,

I will try to make you see,

That I am you and you are we;

If you choose not to take it all

It is a choice to live in withdrawl,

We are the ones you can not silence,

Eyes and voices not of repentance,

But of power not seeking vengeance.