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Pristine
Gazing modestly through a chilly morning
my mental storm still churning and roaring
it seems the times have changed
upon the whims of the deranged
Materiel and objects they ponder
the truth of life is squandered
leave it be
it was never meant for me
As I trek through the blossoming hills
my gaze is drawn to sky ever so still
the sense of wonder
it only grows stronger
To float among the clouds
so lazy, with no reason to move
swept gently, sauntering above crowds
this spring breeze has found my groove
The things the clouds have seen
one could only dream,
it is too pristine.
