Air treads into noble sand.
Shores of land wave, swaying, as essence says to.
Fields of dunes mending themselves.
The sovereign grain, it leaps off the brim of hills in hand.
Where dancing grounds speak solitude.
And too, where emptiness fills to bring atonement to nature.
Coasts for no sight, the living warmth.
In place of nothing, there may truly be something.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 3:07 PM UTC
Air treads into noble sand.
Shores of land wave, swaying, as essence says to.
Fields of dunes mending themselves.
The sovereign grain, it leaps off the brim of hills in hand.
Where dancing grounds speak solitude.
And too, where emptiness fills to bring atonement to nature.
Coasts for no sight, the living warmth.
In place of nothing, there may truly be something.