Here is art,
Filling the air
Inhaled by sick lungs
Yours and mine.
Here is an aura,
My feet are chasing
Pounding pavement carelessly.
I stand, a witness to your boyhood
A jury to watch growing pains,
Shaving nicks, and other places to bleed from.
I might save you, but I wouldn’t try.
There’s no receipt,
no past the point of no return.
Something changes with the wind;
There are rocking waves that I sailed away with.
The tide has swallowed my land,
Don’t plant your flag here.
Hurricane season hasn’t left,
I am your monsoon.