There are days like the sea

Where the sky is thick and grey

And the line that distinguishes the water against the air is smeared

Gentle, heavy waves lap up on the shore

Engulfing you in foam as it fills your lungs

And your vision washes bleary

Then there are other, more violent days

Desert days

You trek your soles over the shifting and uneven ground

Swaying as the sun shoves you down with a sharp hand

Vision narrowing with rapidly increasing drowsiness

While only the empty claw of your stomach shakes your senses

And you might prefer the drowning sea

At least the sea is cool

At least its waves are smooth

At least flowing back and forth by its tide is a leisure

To frolic as your soul releases a crushing grip

Simply flung without the responsibility to swim

But this is war

And at least on the desert days

You choose to fight