Poem. When The Clouds Begin Crying. Bruce Kilarski. 


​When I was a boy

The cornfields would calm me,

The cat fish would swim circles

Whenever I roamed.


Down high dusty roads

I’d sing in my footsteps,

No more than a day dream

Away from my home.


My Pa planted colors

That would laugh in the sunlight,

And wait to wake up all of the

Shadows of dawn.


Mud pies and stick swords

Would rescue my summers,

From cottonwood castles

I’d right every wrong.


You may ask what has happened

To these worlds full of wonders,

When you visit the places

I so dearly loved.


Every one has been buried

Under asphalt and ashes,

You can see the clouds crying

In the skies up above.


Do my children believe me

When I tell them these wonders?

Are they seeking the same beauty

In the things that they love?


The hope in my heart

Is they’ll remember the splendor

When the clouds begin crying

In the skies up above.



You can read more from Bruce at Booksie.com and also in his book Wandering Words.


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