They look so soft, <br />oh, how I would love to touch, <br />but nothingness is never enough. <br />Always wandering and lost. <br /> <br />Gentle creatures, <br />the simple mind plays visionary <br />with beanstalks and turtles eating berries; <br />pure white zebras. <br /> <br />They look at peace, <br />forming the masterful mythical heavens, <br />but only they know, the true number sevens. <br />Like wool, or like fleece. <br /> <br />The shapeshifters, <br />expanding to the fuel of human fire, <br />let it rain black with human desire; <br />our ash filters. <br /> <br />They look disturbed, <br />regardless of their feathered mass, <br />terrified, terrified, letting no light pass. <br />Not another word. <br /> <br />Horsemen, nightriders, <br />signifying the end of the world diseased, <br />wet with the passion of a woman unpleased; <br />the flames grow higher! <br /> <br />...where did they go? <br />I once saw them in the playground up high, <br />those funny big marshmallows up in the sky. <br />They'll be back, this I know. <br /> <br />Those bipolar big marshmallows up in the sky.<br /><br />Kale Beaudry<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/those-big-marshmallows-up-in-the-sky/
