They told me,
"Every cloud has a silver lining."
But i think, the cloud just a smoke one. It was changed it articulated by someone who punch their eyes.
So I chased the clouds
I chased them through tempests, through storms that tore my lungs, through skies painted in ash.
I swallowed the thunder, I danced with the rain, I carved my name on the lightning's spine.
But some clouds are not clouds at all.
Some clouds are curtains of smoke, planted by hands who needed me blind.
They wanted me to keep running, to keep hoping, to keep searching for silver in the gray that they crafted.
They called it wisdom,
They called it patience,
They called it faith, but they never called it what it was.
And when I stood, breathless,
Beneath their painted heavens,
They smiled!!
"See? You never gave up."
How poetic, How ironic.
To seeing the survivor of their illusions.