Shrouds of Clouds
Sculptured by the mist.
Shrouds of clouds are forming
the frontline of the sky
in a belt as smooth as felt
then disappear and die.
A crepe and lake of mystery
sculptured by the mist
backdropped by the light of day
my eyes cannot resist.
I watch them dance in a trance
and perform before my eyes
greys and blues and purples
as they rise, in Spires.
Clouds and sounds of symphonies
of sentiments sanguine
upbeat and optimistic
are seen sideways in a dream.
Chariots of fire
wild horses on the run
propped in bounteous beauty
by the fiery sun.
I lie and spy into the sky
and watch clouds disappear
lost in evaporation
then form and reappear.
They mesmerise my senses
the shapes that fascinate
and raise the awe of being
open up, then saturate.
©
David Rudder
2024
Thank you for reading this piece and my poetry.
