I am from the ocean, a splash of blue;
a barely there whisper with a roar at the edge,
a blanket of sea foam o'er a carpet of weeds,
a fist pummelling ceaselessly against a ledge.
I am from the mountains, a mosaic of grays;
a gathering of old men crowned in clouds,
an echo passing from peak to peak as they speak,
a place of solitude amidst the tress like crowds.
I am from the forest, a stroke of green;
a tangle of treetops touching the sky,
an intricate weave of subterranean roots,
a recreation of Noah's Arc scuttling and scurrying by.
I am from the city, an outline in grey;
a right-angle squared-off grid-iron fabrication,
a cacophony of sounds lost in each other,
a bountiful space plagued by ennui and dissatisfaction.
I am from my memories, uncoloured, without hue;
an angel and demon who sit at each shoulder,
a longing for something I've never once seen,
a force that continues to shape me as I grow older.