Clouds

Enthralled in the incidence of youth
That colossal time
As vivid and earnest as it is a perpetual stumble
Learning to balance in a world of high wires
And decorative spires that point to the clouds
Those skybound canvases of natural invention
And innocent introspection –
They used to make shapes
Malleable, like clay to our unencumbered wonder.
Do you recall that ricochet?
Of everything we hoped to say?
That was enough
Once
But is it, still?
Can it suffice? I hope it will.
Don’t ever lose that glimpse of grace
Not religious, but intrinsic – a euphoria as literally high
As it is essential to our enduring resistance
Of the ever-impending flood of cynicism.
Those clouds and the shapes they create
The array of absent-minded depth and consideration they inspire
Are an ongoing soliloquy with all that we are
The reflection of a writhing culvert of impressions
Perfectly ambiguous.
Don’t lose that vitality of unrequited youth
A perpetual stumble? Perhaps
But we revel in the short infinity of the fall
And those are the clouds.
Dare to be happy
In a world that tries relentlessly to choke you
with the rigidity of those “decorative spires”
Dare to be happy
In a sandpaper society that is as monumentally beautiful
As it is abrasive and confusing
Dare to be happy
Not by rising above our muddied struggles
But by wading in them
Getting that clay on your hands, and in your heart
This pulse of your blood is a glorious art
That was enough
Once
And it will remain
Because this life is wild
Existing always on that breathtaking edge of sane
This incidence of youth puts a light in our eyes
Indefinable and alive
Dare to be happy, because these years are the clouds
And that is enough.

 

This poem is about: 
Our world
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