August Clouds

I hope I can make you proud
Like the clouds are proud of the rain
If a quenching descends from the blackness
Then the overcast holds less shame
If a flower stems from the gloom
Tufts of the dark drift to the heavens
If a blade of grass rises in neon
The weight of despair finds itself lessened
If the living can feed off remains
That the sky no longer requires
If their endorphins lust for the relief
That the atmosphere can perspire
Then maybe the clouds will have worth
Like the lilac appreciates the winter
Like the moth appreciates the flame
Like the comfort appreciates the splinter