The planets are talking, the stars are conversing, the comets dwindling to shatter our hopes but we tread on through the sands of our bleak old home. We get by with our lives as our star continues to wither and burn. Our lives will turn as we are set aflame but before that day, this ancient hot rock we call home will shelter us as best it can from the dangers it holds on its own.
For now, it’s not too hot, or cold in this dreamy eclipsed winter which thinks before playing its ever so dreary odds. We stumble through the lake of bones to find wastes of giants who once withheld finely dressed men & women playing with paper now these fallen prisons are bridges and towers to nowhere they lead us to history that which this world cares nothing for.
We tread on through these hard grey roads caressed in moss, to a beheaded woman of proportion she keeps me and my family safe from the indigenous life of the unnaturally settled foreigners of the lands of salt.