The Ceiling Poem by Terry Finch

The clouds rolled on like ocean waves
In endless shades of gray
to dark and distant hills they spread
the ragged edge of day.

My fingers on the window sill,
I peered into the gloom
a heavy weight had found a home
outside this dingy room.

Of rainy days and paint-chipped wood
and hearts that have not bled
so much is gleaned from what is seen
and stays within the head.

And later on when skies have cleared,
no longer can I frown.
I see such beauty overhead
as the Heavens smile down.

The multitude of stars at night
may never find their way,
and I may never hear the wind
or what it has to say.

But somewhere I may find my peace
in the whisper of a word,
or simple things that lie beneath
the ceiling of the world.

T.L.Finch