The Skies, the Prophets
The skies, the prophets, the pictoric future,
the air sublime, the clouds soigne,
dressed in the finest whites,
covering up their supple bodies,
skyborne galleries shimmering in the sun,
molded into pictorial shapes,
vibrating colors, whitest white,
grayest gray, blackest black,
despotic currents plotting their moves,
silent dictators at home in their castles
determining the velocity of the air,
sending emissaries into the wild,
disrupting the serenity and calming the rage,
sending fliers to govern the movement,
the air, the children of the paternal skies,
so restless, so pliable, so mutable,
playing with the currents and the clouds,
molding them into gypsies and fortune tellers,
and from the prophets at the crux,
the omnipotence of universal motion and
of the skyborne network from the
handiwork of the creator, the mastermind
of the development and perpetual movement
as the clouds inherit their shapes and colors
and the skies foretell before the
rains rain and the winds blow.
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