A storm in balcony view

by ale

The clouds are a world of bombs
and planes, not pom-poms 
carrying souls of kamikaze
smoke platoons, like dark matter really does exist. 
And the sky winks, double blinks 
static on steroids, 
bright lights not asteroids.
There is no grace in molecules dancing down gradients,
preparing for an orchestra 
by palm trees in friction, winds in motion. 
They call it brewing, like coffee,
energy in the making. 
Magic tricks by elements&co. 
Energy can never be created you know. 

Hello clouds where r u going?