Voices

Clouds scream across a stolen sky
but you don’t hear, your silent ears
ornaments to adorn your face,
useless spangles like piles of
magazines left unread, stacked in
dark corners, yellowing, dying,
transformed to a fine dust that covers
your eyes with unending sleep, locked
within a world without a voice,
clouds are calling to you to rise,
“take flight with me”, rise above the
labels that you wear so dearly,
they keep you bound to emptiness –
and in that emptiness, find despair.
So much opens to those who dare,
clothed with another perspective,
traversing the gentle landscape,
brushing its lovely loneliness
like a cool breeze on a phantom day.
Listen to her song, awaken,
find the hidden treasure resting there,
today’s the day, look – clouds are talking.

– Previously published 1994

Clouds Folder Maysa Peterson

Photography by: Debbie Downes

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