White wide across, plain, empty in surreal serene barely lost

Breathes when the wind traces the surface, the seamless grasslands in the feet of mountains

Shreds of agony may bring overnight drought, sabotage the shield

Though a thousand reasons still uproars, irrigate the field.

Endless at the edge, empty on the surface a drop of color could make an indifference

Still all though it fails, when it absorbs dark and retains white

It’s the boiling water, will eventually be cold, a stain could not divert the precedented determined

Neither it is the clay to knead, a sculptor be sculpted, it retains the hollow emptiness

Just a little flash and shine, it comes in the ashes

A blaze of fire can tear the emptiness down but the ashes end down in serene

Somethings cannot be changed or dissolve while the earth spins, the flesh stands all inert

And when it believes, it is all which comes in deep white space

Cover image by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash.  The copyright of this short story belongs to the author of this literary work.  

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