The Rain World We went to The Rain World, and they told us how it will be. Soon, we will all wear boots darned with pink reptilian skin and black avian feathers. Our drowsy grandmothers will sip mulled wine from rusting tin cans as they pluck glass beads from their baskets. Their hands will hover in the wicker until their fingertips throb with impulse - a subtle pulse to reveal the color of our essence. Yellow, for the many who bask and breathe the cyclical course. Orange, for the ones who choose to open their palms to tender hearts. Red, for the few who ache and weep as they bear the forthright flesh and blood. Our colors threaded into our patchwork destruction. This is how it will be.
The Rain World
We went to The Rain World, and they told us how it will be. Soon, we will all wear boots darned with pink reptilian skin and black avian feathers. Our drowsy grandmothers will sip mulled wine from rusting tin cans as they pluck glass beads from their baskets. Their hands will hover in the wicker until their fingertips throb with impulse - a subtle pulse to reveal the color of our essence. Yellow, for the many who bask and breathe the cyclical course. Orange, for the ones who choose to open their palms to tender hearts. Red, for the few who ache and weep as they bear the forthright flesh and blood. Our colors threaded into our patchwork destruction. This is how it will be.