-->They don't have to make sense or follow a pattern nor any distinguishable grammatical structure. They are merely thoughts, "tied to a horse that will never tire", that stemmed from an original theme. This theme happens to be Water, elaborated on through subcategories.
river: peacefully inviting. Serenity as the cool waters flow with their anonymity and idle grace. Letting the old and unclean liquid pass, replacing it with new clear waters of life and freshness. Crystal waterfall flushes a deluge to immerse us in gushing cold waters from a seaworld of fruit and rain sensations, purifying my body and thoughts. I'm being swept far from here in the gentle sway--far into the distance.
(1) ocean: the ocean's waves rush back and forth, the madness rising. The wind drags the waves across their own surface, rushing against each other in anger. The salt gives life and purpose to the water; undying murky liquid. My mother, the goddess of the waters. claustrophobia. Let me rush to the ground before I am consumed forever beneath the fury and its minions....
(2) ocean: calming, from the beach. the tide rises and it falls, again repeating its rhythmic peace. The waves ride the wind to the shore, where for an instant they can attain the land they have been wanting, aching, yearning to attain for so long, but then as always to be pulled back and recede into the ocean once more. It is torture to let them carry on so; the wind is their slave driver.
ice: it covers everything. Look around, and ice completely encases the vegetation, making them sag with the weight of their oppression. The heat will not come to let them out for another three months; until then, they are made to suffer. I try to escape but it covers my path. Where can I go without knowing the way? Everything is crystalline; there is no color to behold. My eyes go blind.
rain: fall from the sky to give life; replenish. You are the earthen mother's hand. When she has mercy on the world's thirst she gifts her nourishment; pours over me and makes me smile, for the wet soaks through my clothing and to my skin, and I feel its cold giving me innerwarmth. there is no wind, only the rain-- a spokesman for its Element. Throw my arms out and let my head fall back to face the sky... to accept the gift.
stagnant: the symbol of death. black, bearing in its depths atrocities unknown. Corpses deck its perimeter; for all who lived in thirst desperately enough to dare drink from its waters were stricken with plague. It is Harcadia; the void of life. The grass around its rim has long since turned brown and sickly. The birds no longer chirp, nor do the squirrels roll their acorns about... for this is a cursed land, and only cursed beings dwell here. Though, their fate is far better than that of those beneath the water.
whirlpool: slow, lethargic cycle. I drown myself in the dizziness. The circle whirls, and all who are caught in its neverending roundabout are locked there forever, doomed to circle and live the same life over and over again.