of nothing in particular

waiting for the blood moon

A dozen different faces imprinted in the sky

A blanket of clouds staring back at me

I want to hold each and every comforting gaze

I want to fall into their breaths like silver ribbons

And yet the Earth still spins, the way it always has

And I am frightened of where it will lead me

I know I was born to become the way that I am

And to hold all these little things I have been given

But how long does this lurking darkness press

Against my fleeting friends in the clouds?

And how come they remain too far for me to grasp?

Is this where my pieces have fallen?

Or, more importantly, is this where they shall lay?

Perhaps I lose myself in the depth of the air

And start to believe I could someday join them

Those ever-changing faces raining down on me

Smiling, frowning, but never giving me a single word