Against a milky white sky
I paint blue clouds
rioting crowds
drifting, shifting
bursting to cry.
Clouds are supposed to be white, you say
or gray.
I grunt.
This is my canvas to play
my palette to bend.
Your brush is dry
your canvas is blank
you sank
into the mire of tradition
creative perdition
while I fly,
a speck of light undetected
seeking love uninfected.
There are blue clouds
in my white sky.
Don't ask why
or try
to dodge the looming storm.
I can't conform
to suit your need;
I just bleed
blue ink on a white page.
(c) 2008 Lucie Raposo - All rights reserved (republished 2022)
