Against the bright white palace domes
fluffy clouds seem a tad too much,
and so they start to limp on home
like a gimp beggar on his crutch.
White [Lyric Poem]
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nothing moves
on a Summer day,
but sneaky clouds.
Lost
in a foggy wood.
all the trees alike,
no long view,
no hint of the sun's position...
(or existence.)
just the vertical stripes of
straight pinetree trunks --
like the bars
of the cell
of a giant --
laid against a fluffy white
backdrop.
I can scurry between
the bars, like a mouse,
but am still lost
and still caged.