The divine end.

To revere his tunes the trees bow down. They shower on him their not so beloved. The air I feel is still. The nearly wrinkled and half dead leaves seem to be in a rush to make some use of their last moment. If only they could touch him once and get blessed. They saw god in him. The incense made the air heavy and hung low with a promise. “ Thou shall be set free.” The leaves fell-bodies loose, eyes looking up to the heavens, falling down, up to meet the superior him.


If only they could reach him.