the similarity ends. here.

evoke a memory, invoke a spirit and a light comes alive, a temple is built! how brittle that memory, how deceptive a temple when all it takes to empty out a journey lived, when all it takes to deconsecrate a higher power, to have placeholders plastered on fire. damp it out, shift away steps taken - iron out those dusty lanes never touched. with a grim nod of the head, the scholar touches a dried out pen: dabs and dabs till the paper is torn. scribbling away when the exam is already over. but the idiot struck lottery, and a pen filled with ink colors the pages of the man who was never a scholar. something taken, something given with roles reversed. acquiesce to the rushing waves, with ships setting sail - to far off land where enchantment does not set with the sun. so very orange, almost red, like a blush when the sound of galloping horses vibrate away dull, tepid earth slowly awakening. the clothes makes a face, the title holds sway with children fidgeting about in seats too hot. then the horses neighed, rose high on hind legs: heads thrown back, eyes towards a red hot fire cleansing out all that soot plastered on water adapting to shapeshifters bearing a price tag. take this, or that. it matters not, with grinning can do attitudes - the face is unchanging, faith like innocence that the symbol will hold. it always does. though the insides rot like bat's dead while a rat digs out bones, eager to chew even the bits of flesh still hanging by a thread. that nudging feeling that something is quite off, when faces don't align with a fire speaking too loud. another face mimics, then another, then another till the parade is like a march towards heaven, or a tower of babel, i know not. for the stomps, the rallies are uncanny, they rhythm with each other, with seats catching on fire, then the children jumped at the heat scorching/lukewarm when. water adapts to the sky raining luck, a winner hums to the winds soothing. ice does not melt when the heat rushes into the heart, it's long being sullied that sacred temple with golden calf of every kind, a curse transforms to a blessing when holy water touches the eye. spin away, the rattles are getting more noisy, with rats finding threads loose. tug, tug away till the flesh begins to recoil. hardens, then snaps about when memories try to recollect back a journey made. it was just swollen with too many cracks, each a tiny hole in a heart covered in silk. it reminds of. then the heavy sigh, the next spirit got ushered in with a nod. a drowsy spell comes about, then the chains finally made sense. they're all that block of wood piled up. each on top of the other. i thought they should catch on fire, they did not . too stupid to think, too busy catching the next mimic. like water adapting. it just keeps adapting till. the temple, the memories they stopped looking up at a false sun not breathing fire. blushing away, then i realized what it was looking at.