Clouds

Friends give inspiration

late at night

When the only sound

is the clicking of the keys.

Twelve is a big number,

but with friends

it doesn't seem so big.

The clouds followed twelve.

Big and fluffy white.

There they were,

so surreal.

A painting 

in the sky.

Things happened

that I don't quite understand.

White, Yellow, Pink, Orange.

Some call it science,

to others, it's a miracle.

And to me?

It doesn't matter, really.

It's a place to fly.

A place for escape.

A place where there is

nothing but clouds and sky.

Whatever it is,

I'm grateful.

To be able to escape

every night.

Never wondering how

Or where or when,

just,

Flying.