Words sometimes don't make much sense,
But linguistics is not my field of study.
Vividly and unusually. Picturesque.
Remember to stop drinking coffee and take a look around.

Beaming, effulgent,
Glaring, blinding.
From which lens burst that overwhelming light,
Showing the world all that is made of colors?

Poetry is like art, except there is no paint...
Poetry is like sports, except there is no sweat...
Poetry is like chatting, except there is no sound...
Poetry is like learning, except there is no teacher...

No paint is necessary but the words we speak.
No sweat is necessary but the frustrations of a muted mind.
No sound is necessary but the mimicry of expressions.
No teacher is necessary but the mind, willing to listen evermore.

>                   Crashing,                                  wavering.
            ­  Singing         some                     emptied          song,
       Tossing away          the                worthless              thing.
Amidst the endless                     storms of this sea.
Where no cries could be        heard. Not unlike those,
chambers of madness. Where no song can reach; no wave can crash; no will to seize; no life can live; no dream to foam. And all reduce to

an empty song.

Time degrades, that is a matter of fact.
That which does not degrade only exists within the mind,
But minds degrade too, and what can an animal do when its cage caves in on itself?

Time removes, that is a matter of reason.
That which remain eternally only exists in realms beyond our imagination,
But imagination can only get you so far, and what can your creativity do when you come upon the incomprehensible?

Time embellishes, that is a matter of deduction.
That which remains in obscurity only need more time,
But time forgets, and what remains of the colossal wreck when a million years past?

They say that windows are beautiful.
Elegant, truly, and crafted with mastery.
Especially the stained-glass windows,
They shatter so easily.