A cloudless sky
With nary a breeze
Is the way things ought to be.
According to you.
The sun burns the sky a permanent blue
The wind is in remission, not free to be expressive.
This is the way it should be, according to you.
Night is scorned.
The moon is made mockery of.
The wind howls, mourning loss of freedom, but
The cries are ignored.
Day isn't perfect, though. Clouds will mar the
Thunder shakes and questions the unanimous silence
Lightning dances, catching the unwilling eye.
You will want to dance with it.
Touch it. To feel its surge of life.
But you'll yearn for the sunny day you strive
Wind will sing through the trees
Who applaud with leaves the triumph
The sky will split. Rain will
Fall, tears of the earth, for your sake.
Even though you don't deserve.
You, desirer of mundane existence
You, scorner of variety
You, who burns for the sunny, cloudless,
A promise is painted across
The sky. All will share
In the joy
Of its array.
Chance of rain
Expect a soft breeze