Hanging Clouds

Heavy clouds hang in the mind

Grey, turns the mood

Words difficult to find.

Inside the grey gloom

For words, there is no room.

 

When the mind is rusted life becomes a compulsion

 Creaking and eking, no joy in completion

When you expect each moment to be momentous

Greed becomes of life

Brood becomes of the mood

Rot in the routine

Cynical becomes the time cycle

 

However, if the perception is such

What it is, it is

Lighten becomes the load

Easiness in the emotion

Calm becomes the demeanour

Looking up does life.

 

Woes left behind

Marching right ahead

With a smile in the lips

And a swagger in the hips

Here comes the king.