Pure, White Cloud
Excuse me, please,
I need to drift
To a more auspicious place
Where my time-weary face
Will not appear so gloomy.
I’m a pure, white cloud
Seeking blue skies
To celebrate and venerate
Instead of participating
In storms I did not create.
Tell Elizabeth
I’ll meet her
Where the monks keep
The holy relics,
I need to be
In the good graces of holiness
When the fires of perdition bloom
Like daisies on a green hill.
There is still something special
Within my soul
That I must not allow
The treacherous to kill.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
Added by Poetry Lover
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