Vagrant Destination

The Client, The Guest, The Broker?

They said, “Anywhere is better than here. I hate it here and want to be there. So I left here and went there.” 

The wild world awakens and the inability of sight tingles my mind. I can see the faint outline of light shinning between the door still and threshold. Dew lingers the wing of a butterfly while ancient ruins spread across the distant sea. A slight autumn breeze whispers throughout the magnificent peeping forrest, long forgotten by reckless humanity. The singing flower stood in silence waiting for a single molecule of light to penetrate the sky. The light was rejected and the flower died. The final battle has just begun its passing. The merciless trees are boundless with options. The state of the wind is calamitous and the ocean looks like it’s ranging fire. Although the poem was jejune, the words were superior. The vivacious bird carried the cerulean sky on its back. The city went dormant and the noise slowed down to a heartbeat. The formation of the desert was a canvas filled with dreamy colors. Behind is a mirror that duplicates what’s inside. It only took a rhythmic beat to set the time. As the time kept ticking, the flakes became crisp with sensational patterns. The ground vibrates and crinkles to a dead end. The force from the distance subsides. Their breath broke dead at noon. So they died.