From the bottom of a well lined with discarded mugs from memorabilia shops I strain my eyes and through my tangled eyelashes I fight for vision between sun rays.
The world might always smell like coffee gone cold.
The tree has no need to believe in God or son of man no rhyme or reason at all through time the Kings and Queens will fall but the tree still stands so tall.
Whilst out walking I observed the old Pine trees that were planted before I was born and no doubt will still be there after I'm gone. https://www.instagram.com/p/ByOFl32HltP/
Essence below which I lay on slowly drifting clouds of stardust, waiting in hope for my eclipse to pass me by as you twinkle far above plastered on my celestial ceiling, wanting each and every night to last forever...