Fly, free Ones.. up through the skies of our darkness.. sing and play, is but effortless reflections of the work contained therein..
Build them and we will come.. show us the forms, in which we may see.. sweet gentle ones.. nudge the clouds, move them on.. play your orchestra, transformers of matter..
We feel and see you, playing amidst the shadows.. decompose.. resurrect.. alter its course..
Such a twinkle in ones’ eye…. Humbles one such as I.