Idyll

Greeting

A blind field, a gifted space of corners. Rest the dead, the earth of this rotten flesh has long been mired in tons of poisonous smoke of decomposition. Penance condemned everyone to endless wanderings, the result of which was death itself. A lone tree illuminated the spatial path like a lighthouse; cream wings reliably covered the back of the unknown. The sun glittered on the silver engraving of his armor, and his gray, disheveled curls curled in the dance of the wind of natural reality. The man gave himself up to prayer, crossing his exhausted fingers on thick skin in deep communion with God. "Our Father.."

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