November Skies

Clouds shape a body of rain
Which mindless winds push on and on.
Swollen and growing, blown and falling,
Here and gone, they are here and gone,
Yet endless in their supply.
 
The man is afraid of a storm which ne'er comes,
Lives under cold grey cotton wool,
A head of hurts and hurricanes.
Can never quite manage his full potential
Yet endlessly he will try.
 
The woman she weaves a quilt of tears,
Lost in the losses now past.
No one can quite match her insights or love,
Her dreams and hopes ruined too fast,
So endlessly she will cry.
 
Nothing just sits with no judgement, observing,
While Something takes life for a ride.
We learn, we hope not to late, life is love,
And from it we choose whether to hide,
As endless, we're born and we die.