Existence

We looked up to the sky and wondered how we seem from above
Do our scars show or does it show how tall we are.
Do our freckles and the count of eyelash matter.
Does our pain heighten above the rainbows arching right through our hearts to those who caused us the hurt,
Or does it dissolve in the mist and the fog in the smog all above.
Did the light from our conscience under the soul serving as a magnifier ignite the sun.
Does the tornado of broken spirits and cursing sand make it feel small.
Does the blue of the sky wield its hue from the troubled waters,
Does the petty reflection of the infinite sky on the water mass make it melancholy.
Does the night blind the sky, is it a nightmare to those above?
Does it lose faith in us when we hide ourselves in our shelters.

The reply came, but it was too late to realise,
There is no sky, just stars,
Some are gloomy bright while others are blinding dark.