Picture Being Alone

There is a tree that grows tall and strong in a mystical place were a mansion of Victorian style balances within the branches, where the trunk of the tree and little more than a ladder that's ever growing with the nature of the tree itself, but the mansion of an era of gothic glamour is nothing more than abandoned and run down.

Birds fly high in the aqua sky, build their nests in the rafters of the roof of this unusual mansion, every window looks out upon the views of green to the untouched marshland where this tree is the only towering structure across the horizon.

People have often wondered about this house nestled within the branches, they say it is home to a madmen, lost in his research for truth of life after death.

Yet these rumours are so old, no one can truly be alive there now, for the rumours are as old as the house and tree alike, but one day while walking across this eerie marshland, I saw something rather queer to my senses.

Not a face upon the clouds, not a strange unfamiliar bird or its merry song, but a flying ship hoovering away from the mansion in its odd location. The house itself was lit in the early morning sun yet it was dusk, and now I'm left to wonder if that madmen from within the house, managed to conquer his quest of research.

For as I looked upon the house I did not see bird fly, not once at all, yet what greeted my sight was children dancing within the air, if these were angels then I'm sure they most have reason to be within this grasp of reality.

For I climbed the tree trunk to find nothing but branches, the house does not truly exist it is but an illusion, just a image so often drawn from my mind while I sit in the canteen of the asylum thinking of the outside wonders.