Prompted Poem: Clouds
Who would win —
an ancient, gargantuan sphere
of molten plasma
whose cancerous coronal countenance
threatens, tirelessly, to fry us all,
or
one white, fluffy boy?
An atmosphere of grace,
an unseen aegis, so near to
unbreathable toxicity.
By happenstance, it forms a filter
through which even wilting, endless nothingness
and unrelenting celestial fire
turn to beauty — indeed, to sustenance.
Were it a tree,
its fruits would be
these very paragons of softness
who come bearing water, shelter and spectacle.
A planet humbly extends amnesty
to that grim, uncaring soul receptacle
of a universe,
and turns the other cheek
to smile upon new life.
About the Creator
Jacob Sherman
The desire to read, and perhaps to write, should be cultivated and nurtured with care throughout every stage of life. For my part I will inject what strangeness and truth that I can into our written history. Expect no constants but honesty.
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Outstanding
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Comments (1)
you truly have the ability to shape and hone your lines with a deadly appeal! one white fluffily boy - love it!