Be grounded they say,

Follow the routine everyday,

Immersed within their existence,

Oh so proud of the consistency,

But I who lives in the clouds sees the absurdity,

Of all those desperately trying to be,

That being of facade,

Which to the outsider appears odd,

But that is the way of the underworld,

Those who live with their noses in the ground,

Those who don’t listen and merely hear sound,

To their norms they are bound,

But those who live high up in the clouds,

Are somehow looked down upon as strange,

And by public demand we are hidden by shrouds,

But while we may be in the clouds,

Our nose stays out of the dirt,

For there is no need to arouse,

The mind numbing hurt,

I stay far away,

Lest I be sucked in,

It’s easy to get lost in the underworld

Where the facade becomes whirled.