Weeping of Souls, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Wheatfield under Thunder Clouds colorWheatfield Under Thunder Clouds, Vincent Van Gogh (1890)

Weeping of Souls

Clouds we see are home for many a soul
Who hover above watching us below
Knowing their own past they try to console
With lightening and deafening echo
What if these many souls could have their say
Would we dare to stop and give a listen
Or in great business go about our way
Repeating history’s every action

The thunder of the clouds we do not heed
A mere distraction in our busy day
Not caring for the countless tears they bleed
Hoping that soon the clouds will go away
The sky now clear we are no better off
About our wet clothes all we do is scoff

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