It begins slowly
One, two, three, four...
Then it grows to an uncountable infinity

For who weeps in this gloomy day?
The clouds ever lasting yet
For whom wept the glorious night?

It leaves slowly
One, two, three, four...
Then it is all gone, leaving behind puddles

I began from a cold, dark place.
With no eyes to see, no scale to feel,
No form to move, no voice to scream.
What a beginning to a story.

And then there was light, chasing away the black abyss.
And I saw five hundred more of my siblings.
And I basked myself in the glory of living.
And I saw something coming.

We ran in fear, each fish for themselves.
"What cruel world we live in!"
From the very start, I cry these words.
"That we must live in constant fear!"

Struggling and trembling I began to learn.
The untold ways of life.
One more day I live, picking food off the floor.
Not yet dead but barely living.

Until the day came, and I was stranded.
The water retreating,
As quickly as it delivered me.
Unto unknowable shores.

I lie there beneath the unforgiving sky,
Pondering what remained of my days.
All that I've familiarized with,
Has hid themselves away from my sight.

Foaming and dying here, a foreign land,
Not knowing any knowable thing yet.
Grieving and crying here, a waterless land,
Not having any limbs to walk with yet.

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?