His Head In The Clouds

On the other side of the valley
the leaves on the trees darken
they become damp and crinkled,
while the ones residing on this side
are crispy-green and stout.

The clouds above him are pure-white
marshmallow’s with dancing curves and
a veil of ugly smog casts over the mountains
synthetic cloak, hiding the ugliness
of the woman he had once so desperately sought.

The rushing river between the mountains
contained sparkling, pure, clear water and
the stream near his home was minuscule
grainy, with rocks, sand, and leeches that
sucked the life out of her.

The woman hidden beneath the veil was beautiful
she was obtainable, made for him, and
too completely within his reach.

The lady in front of him
was mysterious and untouched
and barely within his grasp.

The woman loved him,
of mind and body, she
desperately called for him
across the valley
over the mountain
and through the river,
but she could not reach him
because he was too busy
with his head in the clouds
drinking the water and
sitting underneath the cool shade
of the crisp weeping willow.

The offering of bread and all she had
the woman gave him and he still
moved on from her, and left her feeling
lost, unwanted, unattractive, and lied to.

This lady got to feel the power
of being the better person
the chosen mate for such a man
who had the power to turn the woman's stream
into dry, cracked earth.

The woman had once been the lady
but never stole him,
for she was his only at that time,
the cracked earth underneath
the weeping willow and maybe
some of the tears from the tree
will leak onto the cracked earth
and make it a stream once again.