Clouds

Tissues of white line the sky, Fragile but wise, Water, in disguise, Frozen once, now alive. They rise from burning souls, Corpse left a burned mess, Yet they mingle together, Free of grief, of pain. Fall down as hail or rain, Nourishing plants, filling drains. Now they become part of me and you, We are the dead, renewed, What flows through you, Flowed through them, When your done it shall ascend. Tell me why suffering matters, Why I cry in history, Why I help those below me, Is it because they were a part of me, Why does a part of me hurt me. We are all intertwined, Our actions hurt part of ourselves, Yet no reflexes to stop them. My body more concerned over a pan, Its heat its pain, Whist another part of me, Dies as rain.