The bottom feelers
Always try to touch the top
They are on their way out
Sinking sadness
Phantoms on ghost ships
Lost in a swelling ocean
Waves tossing in every dirrection
Each day they wander
Every hour
For nothing
As they have nothing left
They live from flames
They burn
Ashes are all that remain
And soon they blow away
Into a book with no pages
The lost and lonely
The poor and unsettled
It is hard to imagine them
Reproding
Anything
That thrives
Since that is not their essense.
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