They look so soft,
oh, how I would love to touch,
but nothingness is never enough.
Always wandering and lost.
Gentle creatures,
the simple mind plays visionary
with beanstalks and turtles eating berries;
pure white zebras.
They look at peace,
forming the masterful mythical heavens,
but only they know, the true number sevens.
Like wool, or like fleece.
The shapeshifters,
expanding to the fuel of human fire,
let it rain black with human desire;
our ash filters.
They look disturbed,
regardless of their feathered mass,
terrified, terrified, letting no light pass.
Not another word.
Horsemen, nightriders,
signifying the end of the world diseased,
wet with the passion of a woman unpleased;
the flames grow higher!
...where did they go?
I once saw them in the playground up high,
those funny big marshmallows up in the sky.
They'll be back, this I know.
Those bipolar big marshmallows up in the sky.
Kale Beaudry
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/those-big-marshmallows-up-in-the-sky/
