Through Smoke And Clouds

Behind the cypresses' pointed pinnacles, Malleably swaying in the winter wind, Grey and heavy, the clouds are passing: Moved by the luminescent force of the sun. Its regal crown of rosy rays are ramified Upon the unseen face of the majestic sky, Illuming from within with joy, and cease the cry; Thus, I prognosticate a passing sadness Of my heart, while in my spirit I deduce That all is transient as the clouds above, And I pierce through what my eyes behold: It is the innate faith, as humans we possess, To hold with hope through unpredictability; For ephemeral all is, as the vanished smoke. I lift up again my eyes to behold the sky, Now, in a completely altered state of mind; While imperceptibly my heart is conformed To breathe, to slow, to calm its rhythm. Through the window's clarity, my cigarette's smoke Appears to mingle with the remaining clouds, In a uniform alignment with the moving life.