My mood is constantly fluctuating,
They are the mighty seas of my life,
Sometimes I feel like a faithful captain,
Never abandoning my ship,
Other times I feel like a shipwrecked sailor,
My ship overturned by the waves of my emotions,
I feel second to the raging waters,
I know I would fight for my life to stay afloat,
My ship is made of my experiences,
I make small repairs every now and again,
I tear up the mast when I can’t look too far ahead,
I question my own ship and walk on my own plank giving in to the rushing waters,
I feel like I have done wrong,
That my ship is not special,
That I should be no captain of my soul,
But there is no one who knows my boat best,
I know every crack, crease, and leek,
My cabin is safer than the mast,
I go here to write of a fearless sailor they say once inhabited my boat,
A man who knew no fear except to one day find calm waters,
He would climb to the crows peak with a dirk in his mouth to loosen the chains of resentment and self pity,
The hurricane slowed and the captain returned to his cabin,
Now all I know is the fear of the storm,
My soul needs rest,
Company is always appreciated, but I never really swabbed the deck,
I pray you overlook the mess friend,
My ship has nothing to hide.

At this point it feels like I'm just phasing through time
Phase one, lesson one, experience obtained
Unto the next
I slow down once in a while, to appreciate the warmth of sun
The freshness of the air, the sound of silence
Growing up, I heard the saying "enjoy the little things"
I felt it was just that, a saying
Now everything feels distant and those "little things" are my only true connections with reality

I wish I could tell my grandfather that I understand
I understand why he loved walking and sitting among the trees
I understand why he'd stand and stare at a lake for hours at a time
For that is, that truly is, living
Life is too short and the "big things" don't come as often as we want

I go through each day as it comes and accept what it has to offer, good or bad
When night time comes, I lay and rest
Till the next, a reset
And it begins again
I am phasing through the Days
Sometimes it feels pointless
Sometimes it proves it worth
Take what you get
Appreciate what you have
For the days won't wait, they come, they go
Such is life.

The mail train reached just before the dawn. The city was weeping for its old aborigines. Still, they keep out their invisible artworks across the walls, narrow streets and in the alleys. The smokes of the ancient cigars and weeds still boomerang even in this inexorable industrialization which only drags the civilization onto the hopeless realm. A realm that secretly mingled with west and east. An eyewash civilization of organized faith! Organized looting and organized banditry!

It's better to die in a golden moment
While the heart gets lost into the open sky.
A few wordings will have lamented for me
along with your iced teardrops. Will you
puddle them all in a french makeup box
and preserve the memories for the next
progeny?

“On Wednesday afternoon, Lynn Ungar — minister, dog trainer, little-known poet — sat down at the desk next to her kitchen table and began to type. A friend had posted something on Facebook about how much we need poetry in this anxious coronavirus age and she thought, “Yeah, you’re right.””

——————————————————

“Pandemic" by Lynn Ungar

What if you thought of it
as the Jews consider the Sabbath—
the most sacred of times?
Cease from travel.
Cease from buying and selling.
Give up, just for now,
on trying to make the world
different than it is.
Sing. Pray. Touch only those
to whom you commit your life.
Center down.

And when your body has become still,
reach out with your heart.
Know that we are connected
in ways that are terrifying and beautiful.
(You could hardly deny it now.)
Know that our lives
are in one another’s hands.
(Surely, that has come clear.)
Do not reach out your hands.
Reach out your heart.
Reach out your words.
Reach out all the tendrils
of compassion that move, invisibly,
where we cannot touch.

Promise this world your love--
for better or for worse,
in sickness and in health,
so long as we all shall live.

Why am I scared to write,
My views are yet to be reviewed, my actions beats me off my words, I try to express my feelings but something holds me back,

My inner thoughts holds a lot to say,  am scared to write, perhaps I may write wrong about others,
I might review their secret,

this are those review am scared to write now everyone will know,
I guess I have nothing to say, let me keep my thoughts to myself, it may damage what people sees about me,

This Scriptophobia can't take my whole part away,
I know I can do this, I have to stay strong, yes I can, but I know I'm scared to write, but still I believe I can.