The clouds move by,
Slowly, surely,
Their motion reminds,
Of beauty that's empty
Delicate they are,
They resemble those souls,
Who surely have the faces,
But nothing in their cores.
And I wonder sometimes,
If I am too as so
A face of bright smiles,
But empty below
And maybe that is what they see me as,
Nothing too deep,
All light above,
But hollow beneath.
