The clean air is running.
Running away to a world I can’t go.
What of my future,
Will it be there at all?
The predictable weather is gone.
Gone somewhere out of reach.
What of my dreams,
Will the next storm sweep them away?
The clear night sky has left.
Left somewhere no one can follow.
What of my fate,
Will it end before I truly get to live?
By Nyx Rodriguez
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