FOREIGN TERRAIN

The moon looked like smudged chalk on faded blackboard. Safely seated, albeit the starless sight, we surrender to sadness.

The yellow tinge flooding the narrow view, the drops of rain leaving scattered dotted marks, the mouse running across the land, the unnerving smell of grass and ground, the steps where hopes and thoughts disperse... They're all to blame for titillation needing to be endured. The sun pouts, and my voice withers.

Amidst the foreign terrain, we seek within ourselves.