Jorga

Clouds and shapes and stuff and things.
Pour a little salt onto the wound.
Look past the clouds, I see a world black and blue.
Cut the rope, it’s still black and blue.

I take my step ladder to the sky, I take myself too.
Each step is far from easy.
Balance was never my strong point, not in life or otherwise.
Parting the clouds, they are heavier than you would think.

Placing my hand in yours, you pull me the last inch or three.
We are now at last together, you hand me a pot of honey, but where is Mr. Bee.
Heaven is a funny place.
All my time was wasted but I am here now to make amends.

I am walking on air as thick as mud, hand in hand with Jorga.
Her real name I will never know, I couldn’t care.
I know her better than any name could tell me.
My hand in hers she shows me things that make me stare.

She shows me glass ceilings showing the ant like race below.
There is rivers, there is water and there is snow.
The familiar faces below should make me sad, should make me weep.
But hand in hand with Jorga, all I want is to smile and sleep.

Awake before the break of dawn, the sun is hiding my warmth.
I look up, no stars, no moon.
Clouds
Hundreds of clouds.

I am back down here with the ants, the mud and Mr. Bee.
I look through the clouds.
I see her face.
I look through the clouds.
And I see her face.