Collage and PhotoshopCS.
Somewhere beyond the day, I sit and wait for thee so that we both can see the clouds above like giant cotton balls float lazily amid the blueness of the sky, and bask in each other’s heat, while the sea ravages the earth violently in climatic roaring episodes. The wind, of gentler kind and nobler birth, shows mercy to a tired soul. The frown of life’s unspoken discourse coming to terms as the fiery sun stares in ecstasy and bows intricately and obediently. Is The race over? Has no one won? Blood has been spilt. Crimson has won. The sky is red or orange it seems. The sea is purple, but not of royalty. The sea rants and raves as the sun’s crown in golden frame reflects off the sea’s unsuspecting face – covered in shame, foam untamed, and I sit here still thinking of thee.