trails

To the night, music, herald the coming of moonlight rewards. We work in the day, we walk, and we sweat. We die in the light of the sun. They would block the rays and so we sit now and sing on the balcony to the night.

All we have is the setting, sleeping to wake, to rise laughing at this life, moving into dreams, steered by pleasure and crying, living, revolving, resting forever.

That is what the weather means, where we are in this human race, in this so called awakened state. We know what we have been; always together alone. I would like to leave, all of that playing with premonitions and all of that asking permission behind, if I could.

These clouds, o these false clouds.