In between moments

I slip through the clouds,
the bulbous breathing clumps
like cotton in a blue cellophane bag,
high overhead in splendor
that lift my mind from the dirt.
My lingering room of dreams,
where I rest on the pillow of downy dampness
and wave my hand back and forth
up and down on invisible air
on car drives through the thickest night.
These creatures move like a flight of fancy,
carrying my moods like children unseen
and unheard waiting
for release
and these days yank my heart hard,
as I shake my head and wonder
why we cannot be as gentle
as the clouds above that move
in and around themselves
and bring comfort through dark days
when the skies grow stormy,
the culmination of time gives need
for the cleansing of the earth
and the minds of the masses
who have forgotten how to be kind,
how to be giving,
how to be human.
I need the clouds to carry it away
and pour the heartache into the space
of a tired world.
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