The Cloud

The Wind rampages across the fading sky Terrorizing the denizens of the night They wait only to die While they give hope to the chained rustic children of Earth Who are these ancient inspirations, whom are derived from the blue, Appearing gentle and soft, yet can they be felt? They are a pack of wolves, when they appear in numbers While they howl and roar after spitting fire. These young pups appear and salvage what they destroyed Sprinkling life at our feet, healing and soothing They bleed for us to live, but at this rate, they may fade While we continue to hurt them with our fast paced lives. These poor denizens of the sky are no more Becoming one with the blue, moving on, something only they may do We must become what we endangered Mimic them! And be the muse for a denizen to be.