Almost There

Getting closer now. With each day, each breath I suppose. The symphony must go on, until the lights bleed through this fissured sept. Getting closer. Greyed hued bones, and the dirt and soil burning up its purpose. A purpose that no one knows. Getting closer still. Hot breath and the gods breaking apart the mundane day to day drawl. Drawn in by the sharp sways of the earth unmooring and shattering its place against that traveling star. The wind suffuses the sand and sea with life again. Closer. Closer still. The echo of silence shifts out against the cool blue and black of night. The indigo and…

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