Clouded Face

Clouded Face

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"Clouded Face"

by: Wes Robert Ward


Clouded his face was, maybe because of heaven was upon himself or somewhat clean smoke or puff of whiteness I suppose.


Like sleeting snow you must know. Yet his face was forever lost within the white never to see other such enchanting sights.


Makes one wonder was his head in the sky? Perhaps too specifically high? Below the atmosphere his brain must be. Thankfully breathing the sweet air of serenity.


Alas it all must be. Nothing else can compare. Not even the birds migrating through his ears. Chirping and cawing he hears through head from ear to ear. Inside his cranium was an atrium of souls. His unknown, sewed and sealed with many free will. Holding the beginning and end, all that lived and descend.


And yet if his cloud rains nothing more can be strange than thunder bolts from his nose and lightning from his eyes. Cries are his tears of compassion though not seen he believes in the land below the cloud as he treads carefully upon the Earth that he was born from birth.


And God sits upon his chin wondering where to begin and when it will end. And God sits upon his chin like a mother hen hatching eggs, giving arms and legs.


And George that's his name, asks God, "Clouded my face is. Tis' is what it is, I suppose. If only to see a beautiful red rose it would enlighten me from forehead to my grounded toes."


And God who sits upon his chin whittling away on a piece of wood and chewing on a straw says, "I reckon you'se earned it. You'se learned your ABC's and XYZ's. So here's a red rose without them thar bumblebees."


And within his clouded eyes appeared a beautiful red rose. And George knew life was still good with no worries or woes and being the face of nirvana in the afterlife of paradise was still truly nice.


And though it's pretty sappy, George was really happy. Heaven he was with God as his grizzled old 49'er Miner, nothing was more finer.


The End. \u26c5

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