Broken cities of dusty eucalyptus raped by the green poison of war.
Such is the pain that is followed by the afterlife; the creeping coldness of death ebbing throughout my bones,
the time coming nigh for me to meet my Maker and repay Him in kind for all that He's done.
Golden lamps silently watching over crimson-cloaked halls while sand leaks through the foyer.
Caves and smoke and swaying trees abounding in steadfast mystery.
The dizzy onset of rain decorating the unknown quality of sunrise: chirping and bells and river and sky collecting my silent attention. A smile creasing onto my face as I cherish that I'm alive.
Empty mansions and landscapes arrayed into frame with cosmic splendor; the notion that places give more company than people, calm shining through all things.
The tender disappearance of strife giving way to sleep and tranquility.
The war-torn streets of dust becoming somehow beautiful and kind and lovely.
Memories of past friends and moments and fervor reminding me not to be sad it is over, but glad it happened.
Such is my idea of peace. Such is my idea of hope. Such is my idea of love.