Our Homes Are Their Graves

When eyes gaze upon this land laid to waste the words what you

spend years building may be destroyed overnight never rang more

true. In piles larger than arms can reach lies death. Bloodless, tear-

less, and without a scream came death. Cut open, rings of years past

are visible. This was once a  place where creatures found refuge

beneath and between the trees. It now is a hard place where the wind

is ferocious and the sun beats down relentlessly without mercy. All

that remains are stumps, like lifeless bodies after a war. They are a

reminder of what once was, what could have been. Machines do our

bidding and have caused a disconnection from nature.  Whilom slaves

to the land, we now are a race of conquers and rulers. The sad truth is

we have become the very rulers each of us fear. Our advantage

is our mind's capability, but it also serves as our weakness. 

Gap // Cardigan 

All else thrifted