Do storms ever feel lighter?

The sun was mellowing like a luscious mango
and a small slit on its zest,
poured out its savoury sweet rays in the sky
turning the never-ending space into a blend of coloured popsicles,
from the brightest orange to a chrome of honey like amber
reviving my dull loafing adulthood
back into a fanciful imaginary childhood.

I am reckoned to talk about rocket science
to see things like those of spacecrafts and satellites.
But all I think of is walking over rainbows
And riding on white unicorns
unlikely of a grown up with rational outlook
but promising to a dreamy child
wanting to fly higher and higher on the carpet of cotton clouds.

All through the years, the imagination of a child
sheared off by precise and wise reasoning,
the innocence of the heart uprooted right away
once it believed it grew to what it has become today.
everything turned from feathers to ashes
when we learned that we can fly without wings
swirl up high in the sky with winged machines
but still cannot touch and make cloud *****
like the way we imagined and dreamt
when we were naive and small.

My desk is clear.

Unless you count the neat stacks of papers
I have yet to attend to
that sit on my left and right
except for right in front of me.
Right in front of me there is nothing
but a keyboard and a monitor that's lit up
with a too bright white page.
The cursor blinks in and out of existence
much like the ideas in my head.
I type a word then delete.
I type a sentence then complete
an entire page with great phrases such as:
"There once was a someone in a land
that was known for its great something or another.
The sky looked very pretty, maybe a few clouds
which are puffy and white
a large, dark bird flies across crying in victory
with a mouse hanging limp from its claws
and that someone stood on a hill,
or in their room, or on the street,
staring up at the bird and wondered
what it'd be like to fly,
or to hunt,
or to be the predator not prey,
to be feared not fearful.
Perhaps this someone will never know
what it'd be like to rule, to live on top of the hill,
as they'd always be stuck in the town below."
There are too many choices to manage
too many places this story could go
and my nameless main character
are they friend or foe?
I don't know!
I knock my neat stacks of papers to the ground
they scatter all over my office
I shut down my computer so that the screen goes black
and my reflection stares back, shakes her head
in judgement.
My pulse pounds in my temples as the pressure builds
and I look down at my desk to avoid my own eyes.

My desk is clear.