White Mist Poem by Howard Johnson

The White Clouds
Morphing wonderfully
Changing into Elephants
Then...
Rearranging into children
Playing with balloons.

White clouds
Shaped into swaying cradle
Pushed by the winds
With its toil
There is no sadness

Clouds
Strolling since eternity
When there was nothing
They were here
If they could
Telling us
Strange fables
Grand olden cities
Worlds of acient souls
Wars and battles
Won and lost.

White Floating fluid
Dispearcing the suns light
Covering a landscape
With cool mist
Grey and silver shapes
Giving way to storms sulking
Off in a near horizion
Finding joy and gladness
From their soft shapes
Without any sharp cutting corners

Will I never forget
They lay pendent
Between our two worlds