Imagine Whatever The Hell You Want.

Clouds aren’t as soft as a ninety-nine on a summer’s day,

And they’re not as fragile as the seeds of a dandelion caught in the breeze.

Clouds aren’t whipped smooth like mums’s Sunday mash,

And they do not fall like the first fluffy feather spiralling from the nest.

Clouds aren’t fallen angels, the sun luminescent on their haloed heads,

And they’re not clairvoyant, showing us the way to freedom.

Clouds are not swooping dragons, roaring with pent-up rage,

And they’re certainly not diving whales, tipping their tails to the sun.

They’re just clouds, they say, but that shouldn’t stop you dreaming.

IMAGINE WHATEVER THE HELL YOU WANT.


3 thoughts on “Imagine Whatever The Hell You Want.

  1. Good poem, for we have all see likenesses in clouds. I enjoyed all your allusions. Years ago when I lived in Houston, Texas, a very flat city,my husband and I told each other that the clouds were our mountainous topography! At times it stretched our imaginations.

    Like

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