Battle scars

Sitting by the shore, watching the hurricane,
It had to decide whether to descend or rise,
Whether to swim or remain still.

There was no full moon,
And the wind scattered its tears across the sand,
Painfully touching its shoulder,
Screaming in its ear to run.

Breathing became difficult—shallow and fast.
It tried to fill its broken lungs through its mouth,
But ashes gathered in its throat,
Like a whirl of black dust.

Anguish, invisible and violent,
Pounded its chest and nestled behind its eyes.
How lucky are those who do not fly,
How lucky are those who do not remember.

And night after night,
Step by step,
It drowns its demons
In flames of sighs.