Nights are tempests,
an ocean of life full of lofty, violent waves,
enough to crush the mightiest ship to splinters,
and ours is just a fishing boat.
"Hold the mast steady!" your insides scream,
For this is but another bad dream,
or maybe a wrong brush stroke on a masterpiece canvas,
"So hold on lads, the day will clear the storm"
grip tight to your ship, and let these monsters go where they came from
"...for the morning is near"
so you close your eyes and wait out the waves, the rain, and the salty spray
and when it is finally day,
you see the morning sky had made the ordeal a memory,
and your ship goes along the flow, through the gentle breeze and sober waves
only that there's no crew left, so gaze again at the beautiful ocean of life.

You came an unexpected gift

and a surprising one too.

And as they placed a label which read

"most valuable" and that I should instead take you by heart

and remove all other arts which were sketched on my mind,

I obeyed,

but opening the wrapper I couldn't find what was promised,

you.

You weren't what they labelled, but I still found you quite intriguing,

as you changed colours like a chameleon, shapes like water

from me struggling with breathing, to those sacs of boulders

which hung from my shoulders to those numerous lashes and beatings,

their scars which I could still find on those tunnels of my mind, the more I grew older.

But they kept insisting still that the label was not mistaken

and that it was just a while uphill when I would finally feel your thrill

and  that you would be what your label said all the time

"the most valuable gift that I could ever find"

but instead I found a compensation. Some reparations'

for a ******, a war and those thousands of hours of blood on trail underneath this hill

you were an unexpected gift, a surprising one too

but an unnecessary one still.

Fragility,
It's like a house of cards
No matter if gold or paper
All it takes is just a gentle gust,
A fragile touch
And you break down into oblivion.
Fear,
It's like ripping two conjoined twins apart
An ant on an island stark
Of mammoths.
Pride,
A drop of blood on a napkin it tries
To drench it red like a cherry
Only to find it soaked and dry
A stone's throw for a falling berry
Love,
It is but a red shade still
Of a stretching meadow of daffodils
On a small hill
Red shade of the sky and red shade of sun
Red colour of flowers
and a RED fragrance.

Tick, tick, tick, they move steady with untiring feet
They break and they loot, and they plunder and shoot, and they March on the tick by tick
They step with every beat, through shower and Frost and heat
And they'll make you a part of an un beating heart as they March on the tick and repeat.
A river of troops, they sweep
Their canons break full and deep
And one moment you cry and in the next you're dry and you're washed away into the heap.
They wash all memories vain
Or on books they're best retained
But still a few soul are brave and bold,
For a while longer they fight and keep their hold
Blows from the present numerous they sustain, and blows more from this river cold.
I've read and heard of thy master's tales
Of their beanstalk rising and angel fails
But as long you stand this marching band
Of flesh and blood will they still prevail
And not be residents of a fantasy land.
So let your defenders shout in vain
Let them die in thousands for every awe it gains
For blessed are those who submerge than break
And blessed we more to see you make,
This losing battle.