The log-like cloud looks ….. like eyes rolled closed.
A scroll ready to speak.
The thunderous voice, seeming to rejoice.
The clouds arch eyebrow peak.
Unsettled – makes you doubtful.
Can schedules proceed unchanged?
Do I have time to get in line,
Or will my day be rearranged?
Appearing foreboding, presents its unsure,
Watching the formation move and glide.
The calm before the storm,
And you seek for somewhere to hide.
So affected are we by things above,
Or persons round about.
We find ourselves changing plans
in every sneer or shout.
Threatening moods descend upon,
marking us as wooden toys,
with whom the “gods” play.
A hazy height kills our joy.
Does the true God play with our moods,
And inhibit us through His timeless cloud?
The sky, created to frame His world,
would He taunt us so, a thought out loud?
The God I know speaks through the gloom;
He does not it dangle it in our view.
My God will use clouds as a chariot of sorts,
When He comes again for His chosen few.