Signs strapped with dis-ease drape the landscape. Dreadful songs printed upon their faces, uneasy eyes scanning across them.
Hard to stay clean. Hard to lift the mind under such filth. Hard to imagine a battle that hasn't just begun, a battle that’s been going on for such a long time, before mankind’s bodies were unfolded, before time tumbled from out of the mist, a breath that lifted us within the garden, the place we should have stayed.
Comments
Post a Comment