hopes fly like passion clouds

hopes fly like passion clouds

What I don’t get exactly – is the Beatles, Dylan...

wrote about all kinds of things

Eleanor Rigby, Lucy in the Sky

Perhaps they were simply high?

Sergeant Peppers, Blowing in the Wind

Rolling stones, the girl from the north country…

Where answers there are none

But hopes fly like passion clouds

Pass us by

Where dreams are aching but true,

Where colours speak louder than words can

And I float on that far away boat.

Picture yourself like a boat on a river  

With tangerine trees and marmalade skies.

These songs were about wonderful journeys

We might never take

But hopes kept us going.  

She would never say where she came from
Yesterday dont matter if its gone
While the sun is bright
Or in the darkest night
No one knows
She comes and goes

Explain to me…why do writers these days

have to keep their feet plodding on the streets?

As if bound in some pre-ordained ritual

Of pondered heavy introspective questioning? 

We know there are no answers after all

Don’t we? 

Only those colours that I hope to dream of in far away lands

I may never reach -

But I can still dream, can’t I?