The poles divided beneath your step, under the space you define. The circus, wreck but floating in depths of beauty. To what the beauty left behind instead of her. An inconceivable lack of wellness. A joyless sorrow next to the saddest joke. The poles are apart. Your feet are struggling for the impossible. Will you be punished or will you be praised. None nourishment for prophecy. The poles are far to reach. But poles are poles. And they'll be back in time. And we all know time. Cause, we all know back. And back and forth. How many times we've lost our north.
Random thoughts, twisted meanings and recreational aspects.