I am from brave young men who
rose their glistening rifles in thick, steaming
jungles, and the sound of heavy tracks,
roaring over the 38th Parallel.
I am from the red blood of men, blood
which drips upon a rock orbiting our star
at sixty seven thousand miles per hour: Earth. Ceaselessly
weaving a whirling dance in the great expanse
of our solar system, merely
a single brushstroke
upon the vast canvas of the Milky Way.
I am from an ocean, filled by small droplets
of color. A rainbow of blues, reds, yellows,
and shades of the lightest minty green. Even
if I am only a lone drop, my color shines
in a way akin to no other.
I am from family. From waking up to the sweet aroma
of mom's delicate glazed cherry pastries.
From unwavering loyalty to the people I love.
From teamwork and companionship.
From explosive, frenzied encouragement
at the end stretch of a long race -
where determination and exhaustion embrace
in a final sprint, like the startling crack of a gunshot.
I am from the exuberant grin breaking across my lips
from cramping and desperation, from forgetting
about the heat and nonstop ache consuming my entire being.
As the wind blows past the finish line
and onto my tired, exultant face.
YOU ARE READING
Brushstroke
PoetryA longer lyrical poem moving deep into the roots of individuality, but also giving a clear vision of a single life amongst many others. Combines personal detail and thematic ideals into a single concise work.