Where the land melts into muck: marshland in monsoon, moonscape the next season, where neither shale nor rock the bottom is made firm, save baked footprints at the brim; where the lake blankets the shore with vermin unseen in game, legend and green; where fate the sapiens ignore; where one dreams in wilderness; dreams in coldness; where the land melts into muck, that binds the feet at the edge and fate beyond the ledge. ~
No comments:
Post a Comment