A Blotch

There he is, swaying in midst of canvas eternal
flying past the disdain houses of cities mournful,
galloping away from the valleys silent and pure
he travels purposeful, apparently,to a destination sure.

He looks like a ink stain left by child
in impish impulse on the vast sheet spread
but, truly he made the art perfect
the sky is naught, without this insult.

"Where are you speeding my friend?
In this world, where all search for the dear end"
queried I my white bodied astral traveler,
white cloud, drifting over my head without a mutter.

The cloud paused at the hurdle I placed,
"Following I am my fellow brethren ahead
for they know the destination for this advent."
answered the blotch and away it went.

"Are you sure that feet, you should plant
on the same soil in the lands distant
where thy comrades weep in the end
to the un-felt rocks and trees hard?"

The passing cloud halted at my shouts
letting his fellow white soldiers  pass,
"Grateful to you my fellow voyager
for thy had revealed the truth always clear."

The blue patch revealed where a blotch was
sky still perfect and serene as it always is
for the cloud, started a journey to not afar
but to break the self confining  glass jar.

Blotch disappears once it sees purpose
of the impish hand that put him in place,
hand that holds the treasures of all
is waiting for us to pause and call.