Like A Cloud (I)

But until I’ll get winds,
Until it’ll get thirsty,
My most hidden illusion
When I hear my name called
I’ll feel it again and over,
My quivering fate
Of finding me a stronghold
Where I shall dwell.
Then I lock myself in a symbol,
In a friar’s tale
Like a cloud of smells
Midst the passing cheeks
For now of this tool
My hands are not scared;
Not the damage, not the pain,
Not the bleeding
And like a cloud I come
Like rain, you’d say
Like a cheap and fake shepherd
And his words of words
And they lock me up
In a borderless web
Of eyes and opinions,
Criticism and bitter phrases.