the tourist
Blue Crack Addict
- Joined
- Dec 25, 2003
- Messages
- 27,919
Painted beautifully into a porcelain landscape a thin line on ends daggers through, jaggedly rippling in the folds of the unfolded splitting the vapours and the liquids on a fog horizon from unkissed lips and the sand, a travesty of sorts is blown curiously by saltwater winds.
Curious driftwood and abandoned clothing abounds to the settled mist and from winter frozen fingers of ancient trees with their amazing watching eyes and hearing ears, the echoing bright sun reverberates on pale through collected white and expands through the overhead circular clouds.
And tiny figures of carved wood and rusty metal let their feet drift in the sand and the water and the sky and they could just run forever, it seems.
Until the water swallowed them up.
And the sun sets.
And I go home.
But a bit differently, this time.
Curious driftwood and abandoned clothing abounds to the settled mist and from winter frozen fingers of ancient trees with their amazing watching eyes and hearing ears, the echoing bright sun reverberates on pale through collected white and expands through the overhead circular clouds.
And tiny figures of carved wood and rusty metal let their feet drift in the sand and the water and the sky and they could just run forever, it seems.
Until the water swallowed them up.
And the sun sets.
And I go home.
But a bit differently, this time.
