Stories in the Sky

Roiling
Toiling
The story above me flashes with life, beauty, danger, chase, and thrill
Births, life, and deaths can flash past at the speed of light.
Or seem to take a millennia.
Swollen with sorry
Anorexic with ecstasy
Flying high
Overwhelmingly low and oppressing
The stories that fly above me in shades from blue to black, pink to flaming red, from a chaste white to a brooding gray.
The sky reflects the mood of the earth, and yet ignores the petty arguments of mere mortals below.
Infinite, untouchable, close, reachable.
If I lay on the ground, and reach my hands up—maybe, just maybe---I’ll trail my fingers through the rivers in the sky.

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