Part 2:Threshold to a Target

And as you fell to grace, there was an orchestra curling an index inward. The song of stones being cast in the wake, we crossed the empty channel into the fields of haunting defeat. The tarps are gone now, and the green grass stands high over any waters; it cradles us in the stream of asphalt. The crater amplifies your voice in the wedge of light. An aerial I of divine beacons inspiring the optimistic, in the abyss of the flourishing flora, green whiskers kissing the air and stroking the breath frequencies of the living. Nestled through the threshold of the road not taken, lay the security of an unknown realm. We glided over the ground with the howl of milky blue wind, and the opaque nebula over the ever watchful looming lunar man. Glide downstream into the chasm of the twilight, and the illuminating eyes on poles will guide you home. Green leasers in the night, and speculates as to the destination of the unknown youths. Upon bicycle you ascend for the treetops, which leave the ground with you. Into the nebulous heavens of blue, swing with lead breath into the divine light atop the cliffs. Find the final detour which takes you into the unknown; anywhere but home. Open your eyes to the overlooked shadows of the mountains, swim into the existence of the neglected, partake of the antidote to hum-drum existence. The tree tops beckon you to the illumination atop the world.