Rarely does the sky use words
But when it speaks, all is still
Electric blue kisses tender puffs of white
Pink teases purple in tango
When did the sky begin to paint
with bloated indigos?
when did grey marry periwinkle blue?
This sky is relentless in its moaning
as if battling the natural course of the sun
Her groans are just as mine
the ones tucked away and hidden from even me
See me and love me
I'm different, but i strain to keep pure
All I hold close
All i have loved
All who have yet to find my beauty.
I am a prism of bent brilliant colour
and still you pass

What shall I paint tomorrow?