I’m scared for the first time,
In a long time,
That I might pass life by,
As a passerby:
Finding my goodbye,
In the backdrop of a stranger’s story.
When I picture my future,
I’m bombarded by hued blurs,
(My cue: “That’s you”)
With painted upon ownership,
Authored by some foreign language,
Promising tomorrow to a hope unknown.
Dawn breaks time into
Segmented sensical structures,
Building the border-wall of time,
Expelling the shadowy promise of yet,
To call awake those blinded by the indefinite:
“The you yet to be,
Stands on the shoulders,
Of the stark beauty,
That is the now.”