I am seemingly without the creasing that pins me together to negate my falling apart.
Swaying is the motion of the days being plucked from the canyon in my mind. An absence of unity I name the Great Divide.
My pores grow strands of light to the touch and sight ensuring this process is perpetual in its simplicity.
In tune with the Vibration
The Sound
The Music
The Performance
The Beauty
The Experience
The Destination
The Echo
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Author:
Noah (
Offline) - Published: September 4th, 2021 16:30
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 11
Offline)
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