poetry

Faith

Today I noticed the sky was blue. It may be that way all the time, though I can’t be sure.

Either way, it can’t be real.

Smooth and perfect, without a flaw.

Who painted that?

Who said it was okay?

How can you look up, and trust something you can’t even touch? It’s completely unthinkable.

Look at it, up so damn high.

So out of touch, with all our lives.

What’s the sky know?

It’s not something I trust.

Precious and naive, that cool blue expanse hanging above us all, every day, unmoving.

The sky makes me so nervous.

Anything could be hiding there.

I’ll seek shelter.

There’s no peace under clouds.

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