" The Ceiling "

" The Ceiling "

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 multitudes 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.

© Copyright 2009 T.L.Finch (UN: t.l.finch at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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