He is the feeling
that creeps up my spine
and chokes it
just tight enough
that I feel it
in my veins
in my heart
and my brain

He is the sound of
birds in the summer
and the smell of
grass after
a thunderstorm,
the gun of a soldier
and the person it's pointed at

I am just a passerby
a wallflower
a pair of brown eyes
and a safe distance away

And I see how much it hurts
and I understand the lust
for the silence
in the chaos that is in him

But I am merely
human
and I am not a hero
I am just - and always will be -
a passerby