There's cotton in the skies today.
Soft, white,
It could be snow,
But doesn't feel as cold.
Sheets of cotton,
Ready to be plucked.
In what looks like a single file.
Maybe you cried so much the pillows burst open.
And released the damp cotton to the skies.
Where it now rests,
Somewhat damp,
Opaque balls of water and dreams.
The earth has lost the power of gravity,
Or maybe you're heavier than it.
That your head now rests on cottoned skies;
Somber white,
Too burdened to take on the burden of color.
Cotton cushions.
But, it also Holds back sunlight.
One side roasted warm with the heat of a light, now forgotten.
The other damp, laden with expectations;
Desires and floating thoughts,
Never expressed,
Strongly felt.
How do you escape the comfort you seek but don't receive?
Comfort sought,
Is oft unrequited.
But the cotton listens.
Time passes,
Clock seldom has meaning,
But the cotton gets heavier.
Water is better released than retained in white orbs, with black cores.
Sky cotton coalesces into a shapeless mass.
Strangely heavier than the space it occupies.
And what's un-balanced, cannot persist.
Cotton unburdens into nothing.
An avalanche of stored water,
Dreams, pains, desires.
All lost, some stowed.
And the skies break.
Sunlight penetrates open minds.
Soon there'll be a sea of cotton again,
Till then,
Sleep visits you on the earthly bed;
While dreams keep you grounded.
