There it stands, arachnid shadows creeping down, its veins flow hidden, causing the grass to breathe.
A distant storm closes in,
it swallows the horizon, accentuating my trivialty .
I rest in solitude.
I make my way up the hill.
I can see the wind through the things that it moves, its power still dormant, demanding my respect.
As i get closer i can sense a force above me,
A blue marble spins and glistens in orange light,
i try desperately not to fall off.
Its almost too much to bare as i stretch out my hands.
In that instant i realise my eyes have been closed.
I hesitate to open them,
The vast atmosphere is now an ambience moaning low.
A deep chant reverberates inside.
I can feel Herculean walls towering to an ornate roof, and statues of gold staring into me, piercing my skin.
Never blinking, never averting their gaze, i have to see.
The hairs on my neck stand up and I thrust my eyes wide.
A cold breeze drifts in from my garden as rain drips off the tin roof.
I get up from my chair wiping my tired eyes.
I look out at the old tree from years past, but i see it for the first time.
Again this one is based off a recurring dream theme of a lone tree on a hill, and a huge monestary at the edge. Ive tried to reflect the atmosphere accurately.