Mercurial plains
So small, the world was so small, a warmth grew within, and there was beauty in the hearts. Brightntnes as brilliant as the color of molten iron, with sharp reds, bright yellows.
A world with a with a fiery core.
The sun pulled ever so strongly, but the planet barely moved.
It grew from the inside out, such as the imagination the mind, its ranges on the surface, raging against its plates on the inside,’and slowly grew out. Its ranges appearing on the outside, ragged, weathered and true.
It’s core on the inside, made of iron slowly accruing to a cool surface. Minding temperance to a scarred frontier of its surface. Its fuming temperance impressive, its wonder and beauty extensive and of exis
A planet where heart grows, and passing asteroids fall, scaring the planet leaving its face scarred and withered.
The dreaded mercurials, the beautiful world that was torn apart, spins slowly anew. The revolutions so slow, the days go into years. The quiet solitude from within, the enigmatic chaos from about.
The scarring of millennia above with warming from the within, to out.
In its heat there there is a peaceful thin, hearty atmosphere.
Little heard while little needs be said. Just the need to be. The fire grows from the core and primitive anger, breaks the surface. In a split second, which seems like years, a mountain cracks to through, beautiful yet barren jagged and strong. It weathered tops in earth form, yet barren in the lack of sun shown.
Glowing in sunlight, while furiously freezing at night.
Clusters of mountains form from seemingly nowhere. Warmth and gardens grow within its molten core.
They rise so high
The sun, knowing its place keeps it together, pulling a little less in the in the distance.
The earthly mericurians, 85% deepened feeling of warmth. form the molten core to its surface
On the surface near,
People in hospitals, dying of sickness as their loved ones suffer. People are simply put away, either to die, or to be woefully ignored. The impotence of them that lock the unfortunate ones that they once loved into prisons of pain, ignorant mentally and or physically.
Floating lighter, from the weight of religions, states and dissidence.
The hospitals grow and society endures and flourishes for the distasteful with woe.
The world moves on, in pious rhetorical somber, drinking the tears of pain, giving life to the disdained.
That pain affects itself countering , bringing warmth within to the placid surface. As the pain from above brings hits, forcing the core to just itself new shapes of mass.
The Roman’s named it the planet after a God for commerce and trickery
The residual disgust in the pain of slavery, trafficking pain from cycle to cycle. Generating from core, not degenerating below. The disgust at nation “states”
The difference of spirt and state. A path and a bridge way like a roadmap from the earth to the stars.
The thin air, the thin air between love and reason, hearing and believing seeing and sensing . The weather between the two of is
