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blessed they call you, oh cloud-walker,

for there are a million strings tangled in you, all colored different. they tug and fight amongst one another for domination until one of them gives out and then the other; rest victorious until they too, snap, and let yet another thought rush through your veins and illuminate your spirit. It grows and flourishes; prospers and scales.

your blood, it flashes neon. your eyes, they emanate stars. unrestrained words make way through your fingertips and into the world. 

the grass caressed by your naked feet always greener;

sun above you always brighter; 

scent of the air near you always sweeter.

with your musical breath and laugh like a prayer, you make your way through the sky with hushed steps. from the ends of the locks of your hair dangle crystal-like raindrops, your neck adorned with pearls made of hail.

blessed they do call you, oh cloud walker,

but with all of my delicate faith, i plead the blackened skins of their fingers never graze your skin.

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*cloud-walker