Clouds Poem by Gert Strydom

To some people clouds are
a unsubstantiated experience
of form and matter
which drifts indifferently
always changing shape
like a living painting
caught on the cloth of the sky,
but to me
they are tokens
of the magic
sprouting from the hand of God,

signs of coming rain, filled with blazing lightning
or devastating hail, twisting ominous tornados
spinning down in devastation,
or of new life that comes as a gracious gift.