Clouds (creatively titled, I concede) was scribbled down almost two years ago, during a particularly lethargic English lesson. Looking back, the overwhelming stress that I had given myself is almost comical; compared to university applications and receiving admissions decisions, I really should have been more carefree.
They sing of silver lining;
That is but half the tune.
Our hopes and wishes, woven tight
Glow softly in the moon.
So yes, there is some truth –
Our limit is the sky. But
They grow heavy with our broken dreams
When thunderstorms are nigh.
So they drain their burdens onto our heads,
Cleansing, letting go the severed threads.
And now, a new beginning,
And new hopes may rise.
Hopefully the extended metaphor can ring true for a wide variety of situations. Despite having revisited this poem countless times, I still cannot make it flow exactly like how I had originally envisioned it. But as John E. Lewis once wrote, if not now, then when?
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