White candles line a fence that rose and fell with the dark hills surrounding it. It weaved without purpose around the back of the barn before falling into a gully and following the water to the bottom. We walked in the dark from the farmhouse to the barn and watch as our host lit two candles in silence and put them on two posts that sat ahead of it. It began with a dull tone; the sky began to weep heavy tears.
Our host began to talk, “Harm the world, dear sky, but these dimensions are not for you. The black-eyed children will take you. Bring these days for the better men, and they will always watch you and wait. I cannot call these the trials of faith.”
We stood there alone with him. My eyes began to drift.
He had always had a penchant for the dramatic.
"There have been a few reasonable torques made from the reasonable and afraid of the rose. These were the chaotic, wise apple turners that needed the China to go with the rope. Whenever we called them, their apples turned wiser and ropes came to belong to the highest resort. We walked in spatial tomes, high on the ledge and finer dressed than the righteous men who we discussed before. These were their weapons.
Fare you well, come further to drain it. Bring your shapeless mass and turn it’s mind to the roses. Care for these people because they all need your worrying and when these become dutiful thoughts than there are further things to note. I have these places when the risers made from crimes and such; they belong there made from senses and high like wise old owls and mortal tomes. Even through the shield of gibberish, I live in heaven."