Winds pear to view your activity’s from days into weeks, the brisk air hits your face but is searing from the sunlight. Piercing your skin with spears, made of hot iron tips. They gleefully taunt you, never anticipating a come back. Writhing in agony, you work tirelessly for the advantage but it never comes. Without the elemental awareness, feeding your senses that no person can win the prize. An introduction is feasible, without a withered eye in hinderance of blotting your features. A pack filled with false sequences, it moves from your grip but maybe you comprehend why. Forever will I be your anchor, in the blinded eyes of the fortress of wonder. We chase the light from your embodiment, the foregrounds lift in defiance in a realm of indifference.
Contributor- Chris Ballenger