Chega de Saudade

No more blues.
Only the cyan tropical sea
Bathing in palm-green aquamarine
Seashell corals caressing the sand,
The fronds swaying in a lazy breeze
In the wistful heart of Brazil,
Where cyclones never wander.
 
Inside us all is a fire that burns,
Mistaken for purity of light,
Oxidized to movement,
Devouring anything to sustain us,
Like the crude oil beneath our feet
Ignited to the heavens.
 
This is the last place I’ll go,
Where the wind doesn’t infect
These blackened lungs aflame,
That wheeze with desire for release,
A distant smoke, a fallen ember,
We are victims of our own success.