Sarkovian is 56 and he looked out today.
The clouds weren't always this way, they use to be an undying mystery, now there just the byproduct of worker bees, they can stand up together and be industrious, but... Now I just stand perched on this peak, hoping. I'll stay up here until the sun strikes and this plague is wiped away. The air up here was distinctively different, the sulfur lined the trees. Their like barbaric animals, they mark their territory, as if thats their goal to deface and maim,the holiness that is.
By God, I'm a man, a living breathing entity. As I follow in a path parallel to Suelo, my daily goal is to lay low and slip under this radar, so I can remain hear, for I fear what will become of this earth, when the undertaker comes driving in on a hearse, singing for whom the bells toll, as the essence of earth gets stolen and life continues as worker bees aimlessly providing for a cause they're unsure of.
All the dreams that I had, now live only after my eyes drift, where I see the same place night after night, but it's far more comforting, than the disconcerting nightmare that remains, the taste of impure water, from the toxins and the so called "progress", if I only I the place my spirit drifted to at my slumber would be the place my body harbored and called home.
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