Fanfiction Nick Jonasin Hospital

- Ocean - by Mikalojus Konstantinas Ciurlionis

mighty sea. Magnificent, infinite, boundless. The whole sky envelops your waves with its blue, while you, full of grandeur, breathe calm and peaceful, well aware that there are no limits to your power, your greatness, and that your existence is eternal. The big, powerful, beautiful sea! Half the world is watching you at night, distant suns sink their looks alluring, mysterious and sleepy in your depth, while you, the eternal king of the giants, breathe calmly and peacefully, knowing that there are only you and nobody reigns over you. But then you

darkens, your face blue darkens. Why do you gloomier? Are you angry? Who would dare, or sea, in your infinite greatness incomprehensible ... Essert against those who would dare?

And the answer came from the sea itself, shyly whispering, tickling algae, and whispering: "It's the wind, the wind. The wind

Wind is nothing, is a transitional entity, a wanderer without a home, and without fading color, like a snarling jackal hateful, destructive, devastating forests, diving in the dust, stirs the fire, takes kicking old crosses in cemeteries, and he breaks down small and poor houses di campagna.

Magri salici si prostrano al suo cospetto, mentre fragili e modesti fiorellini si rannicchiano sulla terra, impauriti dalla sua rabbia. Deboli e confusi.

E tu, mare, tu sei incupito e sdegnato, eterno re dei giganti, qui disteso da migliaia di secoli, illuminato dai soli ammiccanti dell’universo, sempre freddo e tranquillo. Tu sei indignato.

È forse perché le onde non ti obbediscono più?

Il vento le sta già governando e le guida come si guida un gregge di pecore.

Guarda, guarda come diligentemente gli corrono appresso, una dopo l’altra, a milioni, e altre ancora arrivano. Cerca almeno di trattenere uno dei tuoi sudditi, o re!
What a horrible mass
! Waves, only waves and waves from horizon to horizon.

Look, your giants rise, but even they do not obey you anymore. You're skimming, or the great sea!

The wind has been ordered to shatter on the rocks a thousand miles away, and make sure they run, howling, breaking their weak chest against the solid stone, and finally dying, while new bands rise up behind them and also go to die .

The wind continues to lead the new masses. Until you get bored, and leave everything, whistling disappears.

And this while you, the sea, majestic lather and powerless.

The wind is gone. You pick your waves, your chips, you can just hold them, and you complain like a desperate child. Why are you crying, or sea?

you grieve for your so zealous, which has not been that foam?

Do not grieve for them! Will come another day when the wind will blow again, and new waves rise from the distant shore. The wind will take them again where they like, and there he piling new, zealous giants, it will remain that until foaming.