To Rise or Fall

Nefelibata

I find my comfort sleeping on the seventh cloud. Where every pleasure resonates me, surrounded by cotton of ice. The shivering breeze fills me with ease. No sounds invade my ears, except of the whispering winds.

I find my comfort, jumping from cloud to cloud. Into a different zone which belongs to me alone. Into a new horizon, I never felt so free. From white to white, in moments of tranquillity. From white to black, and sometimes to gray. Like thunderstorm in moments of rage.

This land of foam and pleasure belonged to me alone. Nothing to be wary of, nothing to cause me alarm. For the world underneath, their noises fell into deaf ears. Cautious I have to, when I hop onto the clouds. Or the sphere of reality would claim me from beneath, reminding me of the crack in my chest, shreds which sprinkle my soul. The shackles which mangles my ankles. And the never-ending cycle of despair (Or logic and realism)

I drew my barrier never will I sink again.

As light as the tip of a feather, I will keep floating, again and again.

Wisps of cloud scattered across the seven skies. I am the cloud bender, I can shift with the tip of my pinky. A hog, a mist or a haze will never cause me to falter. I am the white warrior, my sheath is my head, my sword is my imagination, and my code is to keep surfing within the sea of dreams.

I defy the acomist, and loath the conformist.

Some call me unconventional.

But really, I'm just a nefelibata who lives in the clouds of fantasy.