They long to live through things. That haven't experienced themselves. Like the miracle of your worlds. Where silent epiphanes dwell.
They reach out with their souls. Like a love traded in for gold. Blind leading enlightened men. In a statuesque like yoga pose.
Engrossed in unrefined composure. Until the buck is tossed like luck. Into cacophonies of luster. Sludge mingled in mire and muck.
Judging what has not yet been born. Fleeing from freeforms of flames. Seeing heat Cascade like bubbles. Situations no longer appear the same.
Lapdogs of a wayward King. Feed on flesh deprived of stature. Procuring mindful memories. Decades worth of laughter.
Flee the pain, unwanted rain. Drying by the fire. Of a thousand burning corpses. What a wonderful funeral pyre.