Are we balloons?
Are we balloons in this cursed and wicked world?
Are we just floating all around from one place to the next? A yellow balloon there a black one here. A red one there a purple one so near. Are we but balloons in this wicked and ominous world.
Are we just not tied down. Are we cut free from our own thoughts and freedom? Are we just floating into the mire, the muck, the ire, the ether.
Do we just float or do we float higher and higher with lofty goals? Do we sink down because we are a heavier and even weighed down balloon. Not baggage metaphorically but a more literal sense. Like a balloon that doesn't have weights attachted to it but maces, lots and lots of maces.
Does the darkness envelop the inner balloon that tries to scream for freedom with its preservations. As it yearns to join the other balloons in the clouds.
The golden balloons straight and strategically to the heavens. The golden sun hitting its crafty golden texture. The glean is so much it is like a beautifully painted sunrise. A yellow and orange marmalady glow.