White Lake

There is a time of day. A time of neither sun nor moon. A place far away, yet in ones backyard. Lands of dropless water and hanging space. A land of visioned nothing. It is true what they say? Is it true what they say. The treasures of Spain are hidden here. An intertwining of ancient practices, and technological advances.

Beautiful. Oh beautiful nothing. Come to my sister in this time of need. Come to her and let us feed. Come here and allow them to rest, please free us of this test. Come near and allow to die, but the good children never ask why.

Let the birth of more yet sooth. Let the thought of you bemuse. Let none cure all the rest, even those who think it best.

Form a release of your light. Behold a transformation of human blight.

But the good children never ask why.

Is this what you really want? Could you recall if you try?