Message

What good is to be a bright May morning,

With sweating streets and sneezing sun,

At eye of the storms that blow adorning

The bedlam of seasons that stumbling run? 

For often we shrivel, and often we freeze

But always we beat for minutes few.

Beneath the helmet, the paint, the grease,

Sprinkled, we twinkle like drying dew.

But you, bright dawn of my life! 

Should beat the tweets, posts and dreams.

Laugh at the tides of hate and strife,

Beyond the winds of fake regimes. 

Thus, in my verse you eternally rule,

A relic of love in a time capsule.