The Hill on Pleasant Valley

Take notice.
The eyes of many question his intent. Will a welcoming glance appease their desires? Why does this lonely traveler perch?
A junction of many paths bleeds crimson.
Much has changed, slowly, imperceptibly.
Why is the world so gray?
A modern knight pries into the workings of which he cannot grasp.
The foundation of this ruin lies within the steel cages of guardian angels that glow with the most primary of hues. I have seen them all.
The Earth shakes
As they approach, a steady rhythm pulses through the air and then fades
Return to the unknown.
Warmth is rarely felt as great as when the heavens unfold, revealing that ever watching eye, illuminating the imperfection of our fruitions. So many tiny rocks;
What have they seen?
Where have they traveled?
The men in yellow continue their cycle, stretching their mighty arms, transforming an edifice that will never return the pleasure.
Breathe. Work. Breathe. Work. Die.
Unpredictable waves swell below me, tracing that ugly beautiful tar artery.
I wonder when the train is to arrive.

Where are the living? An artificial jungle looks so dead without its monkeys.
Guests approach from the south. Will they be friendly? Will they smile?
I will be a mighty host.
Their curiosity has been sparked.
A hello is a magical thing.
Where do they go?
Everything converges into this moment of existence.

What are they searching for? I do not have the answers they want.


Three birds.


The gates close.
Lights flash.
Departure is near.
I will leave my mark.
Will it divert the eye long enough to make a difference?
Time will neither know nor care.