Riddled Sky

In the sky… in the Sky: it’s so drastic, only one, time and time. Fuddled, meandering among wandering trails, and peaks, and valleys strewn of fate and whistles. Drinking of the soft rattle leaking from the moon and fountains whispering rightly, always rightly, to heedless sands. To mire, so brittle, of foundations won and filtered by calm melodies in tune, or sung by ripples in soiled but honest water. Water, by God, wished and real, upon the parched and the famished, and the tame.

With velocity, and turmoil, to wring and silver, cajole and comfort, or tire and languish on banks forgotten, through and through. Answers rarely to whim, to skim, in hearts or hands or fluttering wings by bird or insect spinning and streaking for fortune or bliss untasted or lost. But lost, scampered and chased, rhythm or none to emulate, but harmonious and simple.

Tales fritter beyond two and three, or listen when it capers and clambers, with bric and brac and snik and snak, those lives peeking from the glamor. To pariah grins and seelie miracles it turns and twists to rare occasion of boundaries and muse. Or few, so few, dare treat these somber, what rakes and whimpers amidst the sly and simpers, frittering a holy risk to dust and done. To ken and see, of rare and free, is lost but found in the sky.

Oh, in the sky.