My world sleeps in some weird twilight, leaving me feeling mentally winded and short. I canâ??t see the sun through belligerent clouds; as provocative claims the darkness, filling the land with an oppressive host of blue steel. It all seemed to remind me of a nightmare long past, a deja vue of some sort, which inspired me to give this scene a name-the conjurerâ??s wasteland. Her magic blamed the oppression, and all the spindles unwelcome pierced the morning.
I am not without a bright side, but itâ??s been days. As I collect on this gloomy karma it rests, just waiting for an opportunity. Meanwhile I justify my bright with the sun, and wither the sun shows my optimism only glows. I begin to see the shadows as gilded, finding their beauty as prey to my incentive. I discovered hence and so decided that this is my resolve. Though to others it would seem Iâ??ve fallen, I am merely surviving to live again.
