Email this sample to a friend




I


The Journey

The craft moans,

destitute we feel and oddly shaken.

The claws of silent blackness reach for us,

worlds swim before our eyes.

There is a glow,

it is steady and alluring.

Activity.

Ears ring with repetition,

and infinity shimmers at an inconsistent rate.

We cling and are thrown,

we vomit and brace.

Vehement shaking.

Crimson flares our view,

and white lace swirls.

Continents.

Great oceans greet us.





Previous Page Next Page Page 2 of 21