Logan Withers

An Abstract Delusion

I lie here, betwixt myself and an enigmatic phantasm,
Half-dreaming of a world where the fresh morning dew rests upon the earth like the somber remains of a vestigial forest,
Colors splash across the sky like paint on nature’s canvas, the sun, luminous in its bounds ensnares existence,
Light becomes nothing, nothing becomes purity, purity becomes contentment.

[Report Error]