A/N: I made this for my writing class. The prompt was to write a poem about a town you had visited but did not know too well. Writing about a real place seemed boring, so I made this instead. It was a lot of fun to write, so I hope you enjoy.
A great mass—a purple cloud of dust and lightning,
Speckled through with far-off gemstones.
Five thick fingers stretch out but do not touch
The cloud, ever out of reach.
Small fish dart and float between the fingers
Carrying mites and messages
And the sleek pike shoal around the crown
Held in the palm.
Others come from distant places to see the great hand,
To marvel at the crown,
Regal and ponderous and filled to the brim with might
Such as they have never before seen.
And through it all the roar of insignificant lives,
Grown accustomed to the cloud,
Though their voices fade and die
Before ever escaping the fingers.
They revel and do not know that their time
Has come.
Already the squid's flesh, torn to shreds by the pike,
Has been lost among the fingers,
Carried off by silent crabs who knew
The squid but do not mourn it.
Do they can mourn at all,
Even for their lost mouths?
They do not say.
The crabs and the mites do not know, but
They will disappear and the fingers will
Crack and break and be lost in the
Cloud, but the cloud will remain.