(Photo by: CowGummy)
Something resembling a poem, by I Am Janosik:
Running Through Syrup
I gaze in disbelief at the churning They make,
While soft souls drown beneath their feet.
Not so helpless, but tired and worn,
Trampled in the drudges, the sacrificial scorn.
But as They hasten dimly without consensus,
Burdened souls grasp without breathing.
Not so reckless, zealously born,
Emerged but disfigured, emblazoned and malformed.
And so now They have found Their eternal resting,
While null souls continue as bound.
Not so different, equally mourned,
The continued churning, drowning, running through more.