Forced to the ground when the abjection of its dream is too much to bear
A cloud empties itself upon the surface an imposition to those who care
It is treaded upon without so much as a thought
A word is rarely spared towards the beauty of its prescence or the blessings it has brought
In these moments it is still, motionless
Fickle is the warmth that caresses its being
The warmth that others complacently recieve to it is freeing
The fleeting embrace of light is sweet and becomes its ecstasy
It craves to be with that which loves it acceptedly
It is reborn in this love, and its spirits begin to lift
It leaves behind the dissuasion which instilled its prior existence
It climb\'s higher to give back the sun\'s gift
Eternally locked in its quest for the sun\'s lips