The monk in black approaches the ruins. He gazes upon the rubble, cobbles strewn about the ground, each step kicks up dust from an age long passed. A beam of light, passing through the high gaps in walls, plain white now where the colours once danced about the rainbow; he takes a step and a shard of red and green glass crunches beneath his feet. The decades away at war had changed the monk's heart. "I am home," he says. He took his home with him, in his heart, and his home had broken too.
Yes.
The monk in black approaches the ruins. He gazes upon the rubble, cobbles strewn about the ground, each step kicks up dust from an age long passed. A beam of light, passing through the high gaps in walls, plain white now where the colours once danced about the rainbow; he takes a step and a shard of red and green glass crunches beneath his feet.
The decades away at war had changed the monk's heart. "I am home," he says. He took his home with him, in his heart, and his home had broken too.
Beautiful!
Funky