The Abode of Clouds by Vedika Mandapati

No room for brown,

The soil is deep red,

Bright and dull at once,

Like blood of the Earth

The blood covered,

With the widest array of 

Greens, seemingly shimmering
In the bright rays that slip through

No room for smog,

The skies are barely visible,

Through the shifting clouds,

Comfortable in their abode

The clouds separating

Into wisps, thin as sticks

Flit into man's abode

As though it is their own

Comfortable in their surroundings,
Challenged by a deeper need,
They slip into our homes,
Our minds, our souls

Not damaging anything per say,
Bringing with them a chilling,
Rude awakening to the cold,
As they enter our abode

-Vedika Mandapati