a poem is an ocean
a long, idling stream
it may be cold if it chooses,
forming icicles dangling from your ears as you hear it,
robbing you of all warmth
it may be warm and comforting,
the slow lap of waves against your feet
as you sit on the sands and bask in its warmth
it may be an unforgiving tsunami
pelting you with insults and arguments at you
and most of the times your umbrella is blown open by the wind, unable to shield yourself from it
it may be gentle waves that guide
your lost boat to bay
that you can hold on to when you're lost
a poem is an ocean
a long, idling stream