As the morning sun peaks over the bare horizon, we see a place of broken beauty. The earthy ground is a glossy as it having just been raining, and it still is raining. The pine green trees stand as short dwarves and some as tall as the great gods. The bark was smooth, with very few rough patches, The flowers climbing up a dead tree scream with delight as they blossom into freckled things of lust. The flowers themselves are a array of purple, red, black, green and naturally pink.
The purple ones barely blossomed cause they are a tad afraid of what the world will say. The red, as red as a burning sunset with thorns of hate, anguish and karma. The black as death flowers, which always blossom and seem to scream with rage for they are usually mistaken as dead flowers. Then comes the flowers that dominate over all the other broken plants, the green. Their as green as a freshly painted park. Finally the one flower that only blooms every disaster, to prove that even after death, life emerges from the ashes.
Then there’s that faithful breeze that never ends, blowing till the dead of night. Half is surrounded by mountains , fourth of it is open, rather plain and finally the last fourth is surrounded by a glassy river that slashes through the plain. The mountains are rather gigantic with rigged cliffs. The wide open plains stand like the free man, swollen with pride. Finally the shore and water that can cleanse all you impurities away with a wave or two.
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