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The clouds today are pretty.
not beautiful
but pretty.

The sunset today,
I can't see.
Just a faint pink in the sky.

Sometimes I wonder
if the clouds
are smarter than man.

They converge
all into one
the white, the grey, and the black.

The soft, the whispy
the angry, the loud,
the high, the low.

I know that the clouds are moving,
I just don't know where.
Maybe to the mountains?

Right now I don't truly care.

I'll be leaving anyways.

Where i go, they will follow.

So I will look up and wonder,
were those the same ones
that hung over us at home?

Do they smile upon me
with remembrance of
that old time, in the sticks?

The golden leaves,
in her golden hair,
our laughter echoing through the trees.

Or do they frown upon remembering
the stealthy escapes through
my bedroom window in the living night?

Do they carry still
the same water that evaporated
from the gravel of that one school?
(What was its name?)

Where so many tears had
fallen to the ground?
Where life itself

was in the making?
Or do they look the other way
always faced upwards

with their backs towards us,
watching the stars
instead?

I don't really know.

I'll be leaving anyways.

But where I go, they will follow.