Looking up to the sky as the clouds overcast
Like a winter blanket;
But cooling rather than warming those caught underneath.
No rhyme nor rhythm yet translucent in intent.
A dark and foreboding omen of relief and revenge,
Yet disarming those below with a welcomed cold breeze;
As if laying bare like an open book,
Lamenting that it is only cruel to be kind.
… or is it being kind to be cruel
The truth lies in the immediate aftermath.
