18/9/2020

15 1 0
                                    


There is a place they call Elysium Fields
Where golden wheat blaze aplenty
Puffy white clouds and serene blue skies
Perpetually morn regardless of time or place

A wondrous landscape even for the sightless
However, here is

No land owned by farmers
No sky polluted by conquerors
No home for any man nor beast
A private respite from existence.

Hubris disperses to form these lovely clouds
While the soils cushion my mortal body
and blood
To nourish seeds of more golden wheat

A wondrous landscape even for the limbless
However, there

At the edge of this field
Snakes a shadowy canyon
A passage to the world above
that I could never hope to go

This is the place they call Elysium Fields.


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