There's so much pressure on the
baby's breathe blue sky.
To have all the answers-Everybody always looking up
asking you Why?
How should You know, as if a cloud should care-
wisps a front your steely blue glare.
Expecting a sign to calm our moody blues.
There are no strings attached, no installed lines,
cables, or speaker phone...
Do we even know anyone is Home?
Hope floats, and bubbles burst like wish filled balloons;
In your hospitality, you incinerate for fun.
This weightless reasoning; a burden undone
Looking up sounds good-one cannot deny,
and if I were to take a shot, I'd try.
How you'd answer I can fathom not-yet this one immense thing
burning aglow inside-I'd like to know
if you could just throw me a line or show-
how long do I keep holding on
to your alabaster air?
Image of painting by John Martin [Public domain], "Eve of the Deluge", 1840 via Wikimedia Commons.
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