For the poetry challenge.
Lately, floating clouds are stained
strange madness penetrating,
skies darkness thickening
before billow can change;
lately, rays have no beam
or wink between leaves,
no trace of plume lingers
up in high tops of trees;
lately, swift breath of invisible breeze
now bakes in heat like our earth’s core,
dust now lingers on polluted surface
time accelerated too late for a cure.
Or maybe I’m a feathered ghost
interwoven, with migrating birds,
carried through a ruptured mantle
to where my soul can rest in peace.