The sky is not always blue

9 0 0
                                    


One morning my sister asked me
Why her friends at school look different.
I pointed up, our eyes trailing the length of my arm
To the sight of clouds patching the early milky blue,

When dusk crept in,
She asked me once again.
I pointed up, our eyes trailing the length of my arm
To the visage of insipid golds fading into a blazing orange.

When nighttime dawned upon us,
The question slipped from her lips once more
I pointed up, our eyes trailing the length of my arm
To the backdrop of deep nocturnal darkness blanketing the Earth

The human race resembles the sky-
it can be many colours
different but the same
many but one
And she understood.

Philosophical perspectives {poems}Where stories live. Discover now