There are good people,

Like mountains under gray sky.

On days I'm weak, I go to them

My tears are the rain that

is lost among their grand trees.

 

There are fun people,

Like wind, lightning, and waves.

On days I'm invincible, they are

Curled puffs of air,

Splintered electricity,

Cresting water,

I touch just their tips, that's enough

to satisfy.

 

But there are the other days

When I'm in need of neither person.

These are days of paintings.

Storms and earth in one,

paintings of all people and things.