Herculean Clouds

They move.

They look down.

They do so emphatically,
Taking forms that hold meaning
Unknown to us measly souls.

They harbour an air of majesty
That increases with progression.
We know not if they laugh
Or cry at our mundane lives.

Yet we make sense,
Thoughts nothing more than ashen remains;
With warped perceptions guiding us.
They seem to move at a constant pace,
Their faceless faces hiding truth.


They laugh.

The herculean clouds.