Skies There are infinite skies. When I slump in my car after a bad day at school When I peer through the tinted windows I see a gray sky. I see hundreds of puffy clouds solid and soft scattered across a forlorn canvas. It makes me feel nice and content that the world is still meticulous. When I go bike riding on a hectic Sunday morning When I gaze at the sky I see something enchanting. Something that sweeps my breath away Makes my heart thump with the joy of being alive. I see a bright blue canvas cloudlessly stretching into a horizon that never seems to end. It makes me feel alive and unstoppable and untouchable. When I stare out the window on a meaningless Wednesday afternoon When I let my eyes drift I see a pale blue canvas, maybe tinged with ivory or smoke or emerald. I see willowy feathery clouds drifting across the sky lazily as if God has just completed a meal. I see them coveting the sky like transparent curtains like a soft breath fading in winter air. It makes me feel quiet and lazy and shy. When I take a walk in the streets during the evenings When I look at that sky I see millions of hues and colors. Ocean blue and baby blue and retriever yellow and red pink and cheese orange and pale red all mixed together into the best gradient of the world, they tint the clouds making just a few streaks of rainbow appear beyond the amber sun. It makes me feel peaceful and lonely and alone. When I shut the windows on a bleak winter morning When I catch an accidental glimpse just a glimpse of the sky outside my heart skips a beat. A gray blue canvas ashy and stark and bleak draped by thin, wispy clouds sighs at me. And next to the snowy sun a faded moon resounds like the heartbeat of a dying man. It makes me feel fascinated and small and hopeful. When I open the door on a rainy Thursday night to put out the boxes and water the flowers I see darkness and rain and something unknown and dangerous and powerful and scary and roaring and raging and beautiful and big and infinite It makes me feel dangerous and braced and unique. There Are Infinite skies. It's never been about the roses or the willows or the Pitbull around the corner that always steals my sausage or the juicy orange glistening with dew swinging on a branch outside my window It's about the sky and the air and everything unknown and unnoticed and undisturbed and untouchable, and everything beyond them. The beyond is infinite. You want to know the proof? The proof is in the skies.