Phospheric plumes and moon farms dotted the landscape.
An escape to another reality, drowning in the Cosmos ethereality.
I only looked through a gap in the wall, thats when it happened.
I turned to tell my friends my find, then I realised id been left behind.
In a new world.
Silence and mercurial colours.
Silent tornadoes, plumes and farms, reminiscent of the inside of marbles,
that magic swirl inside.
Time change irregularities and round water, gravitys games.
Round water leaves the hand dry.
Phospheric plumes rise into the sky.
The grounds a bleached Peach colour, irremoveable sand.
Only the air dreamed.
The smell in the air was plastic like erasers.
No breeze no trees just whirlpools and swirlpools plumes and farms.
Moon farms like bubbles out the ground, perfectly round and formed.
Like balls of volcanic lava firing upwards, produced from petfectly
round looking puddles.
Sky baby yellow ,floor Peach.
Formed moons pour from the floor onwards and skywards.
Still being seen when they've gone, like dreams popping but