The pointless irrational cloud

    The pointless irrational cloud, gone bad after the collision of some winter caves drawn aside by waves on thick nothingness, relating to the unfortunate faith of a precious gem drop which is no more. 

A deer, making it`s path through the rough roads of green, doesn`t know how to handle a candle, even small as it is, the poor thing. Whom does it feed on? 
Maybe the trunks are now filled with red bloody cream juice of the forests. Yes, that must be it, the beavers rolled up a dam, creating a diversion for the unworldly creatures of the mist, the path finding things that are no longer. 

Coming to an end, the crumb becomes unfortunate, not because it`s cold outside,  but because it doesn`t matter anymore. The true meaning of it, finds it`s origins into the hard soiled path of heaven. 

Oh, heaven, the white fog land which only exists here, in nowhere. But why does the crop grow not there? Doing so, enables it to do the opposite of that. True, the not so beautiful things are far from over, and they are far from beginning. 

Thinking back of the time when time did not exist, makes the shoe think, twice even, about it`s past, relating of course to that part of the world where monkeys enlarge truth, as another kind of reality. It is hard, it is hard for the unpredictable to create such glory, almost impossible, but not quite, as something draws nothing into a whole other form  of everything. When the deer crossed the skyscrapers, without even looking back, without making stops for it, walruses, being at the other side of the ball were joining the street dances of bloody thrones.



Conclusion: None of the above made sense. 

The end!