the man in the clouds

theres a man stood after midnight, but not one you should fear
his cold attest and shimmering vest bring questions; raise his ear
"Why are you still standing here?" asked the boy, too soon to wander
"cos im an artist dear boy!" the man replied, smile cracked wide like thunder
"and what about loneliness?" asked the child, too curious for his years
a gestured flick to fresh parted clouds showed some radiance had appeared
"I feast on the twilight, and lavish on the scraps"
the boy stood firm, still curious, but uneasy of the late
"the night that brings much sorrow to you is a dish I quite enjoy"
the man sized words weighed heavy you could see, on that little boy
"never accept fear, if fear is not what you feel. let not dissuade the consensus born from feeling what is real"
the words were lost, his eyes shut tight, sure soon to be devoured. the boy then opened them, one at a time, and across his eyeballs scoured.
the man had gone and so had the moon, upon the twilight hour.
the boy walked home toward sunset, not sure of what he'd found.
but above him still were those few words
from the man who loved the clouds.