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Poems and short stories ©   by Arno and Anna unless differently stated (Disclaimer).

Looking up, I see
a completely blue sky
with a tiny white cloud in the distance.
Don't they say that clouds create
imaginary creativity?
I see what my mind wants
to see. Your face...
The result is impressive.
The wind blows the cloud nearer.
The image of your face becomes
clearer (in my imagination?).
The force of the wind increases;
the cloud's torn apart,
leaving my creativity
no opportunity to see
anything anymore.
Is Life so relative?
What is left of what
my mind wants to see?
Are you real?
Or are you just my
imaginary creativity?
Don't leave me like that,
I would be torn apart
like that cloud by the wind.