Poetry Due to Entropy

Poetry is a very personal thing;    
In time it lightens the load and digs    
such in the memories; the evening is    
systematic as the clouds are falling    
again, there is gratitude for the rain    
where erosion and riverbeds stand    
naught of a reality overlooking    
a silver fish; I sneak out warding    
at dawn to watch the mist rising,  
it exposes your darkest fears    
in that some may second guess;  
everything is nothing but ordinary,    
some say that it cheats the night,    
such as death – it will cause pain;    
fear not my beaten limbs, I will finish it.