An Endless Marvel

If there were such a place where the dead were to rise and the living wither, well that would stand to reason that perhaps the end is not so near. My days in the mud and muck have not been taken; my brother shall live again as will I. If this space is to exist, afflictions would take no one without death guiding them back from wherever they have wondered to. Such a place I propose, nothing reminiscent of the fountain of youth; no a place of my own.

A home for the demented and the saintly. A vessel in which there is no end to billowing winds that bind us...

Oh, such a place as this would be marvelous...

A home in which I would find myself content. Pass my bastardly youth by and stand mighty in my own small but, sure way.

A world to paint whatever color I choose...

But, what would I call this vessel? This bountiful wonderland? Have I not the mind to try and fashion it for myself?

Perhaps....

If I wish.