To combat I strive and find at close quarters
The opposition, who build a closet of anxiety.
Struggling and wincing, the combat is high,
A higher man shall concentrate and win.
To wrestle a foe is suggesting a crime,
May werewolves regulate our passes,
This time no help is at bedtime.
Disturb him not, the dangerous,
Ask him, not me, forcing,
Frustrating him with abjectness,
By lying, disputing.
The library of books to do with life are great,
Inside them we discover a whole new story.
Their covers are as hard to swallow as fish,
Meeting a drinker dissolves your hatred of reading.
Health carries happiness for some,
They master the cures for the ill,
The ill end their lives with a kindness
Due to skilful doctors all around the world.
My aching head is numb now from the pain,
The wound of blood and brain, a creature.
Nature is triumphant on my bed,
Underneath this object is a utility.
Words concentrate in the form of phrases,
Working joy into the heart, forming gusts,
Enemies are blown to and fro, like the tide.
The sea endangers us at times, due to illness,
The inevitable battle strikes the awesome nation,
We call this town a nation of strength, the battle.
Itself the battle climbs, to put on an action of wounds,
The unavoidable victory is theirs, the defeat even theirs.
Memories of youth are emerging, desisting, then reemerging,
Fully apt for the taking, magically presented by the mind.
Youth is a wonderful endeavour of the rich, the blamed,
Who struck their riches in health as well as wealth.