Bogus Fresh Poets Collective

the sky cries
tears of necessity drum against my window
dry and self centered
I had all but forgotten
nature’s musical beauty and purpose

perennial storms flush the earth
coloring the ground deep wet
washing away parasitical particles
replenishing life
healing

if I stand outside
will I be healed
if I become an ark
loaded with two of each of my best qualities
and if I drift away
will I be healed when the crying stops
at which port will I dock

if I stay inside
will I be healed
if I appreciate the sky’s tears
and the purity of their wake
and if I breathe deeply
and become the spirit of the storm
will I be healed when the crying stops
at which port will I dock