The Truth

It's mostly a mist where I live. The clouds are almost personified.They draw me in so deep that I forget reality. They pretend to be what I long for.

The other day I saw a cloud, shaped like a man. I saw the curvature of his body and I got drawn in. My imagination filled the white unknown with colours. His features seemed to pan out all on their own. His eyes were beautiful. His nose was the nose of the one I love. His hands too.He beckoned. I almost went to his call. But I realized he was just a cloud, mist, dream.

The other day I saw a cloud, shaped like a lady. She was stately and beautiful. She smiled. She showed me her unblemished features and incomparable beauty. She called me and I almost followed her call but stopped with one foot in the air ready to walk. For she was just a cloud, mist, dream.

Where I live I can't seem to see the truth. The clouds and dreams and mists, they draw me in.

They promise to satisfy.
They say they won't leave me dead and broken.
I don't believe them.
And yet sometimes, I do.

The role of a cloud is simply to be a cloud.