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Nomadic scenes are thrown at the forgotten souls in the breeze,
The ship sways to and fro as it conquers wave after wave;
Sadness, sadness at each passing breath of the seas.
Very little can be seen or heard beyond the darkening trees,
A path hidden from the view of the forgotten and forsaken slaves;
Slaves to their own pursuits of corruption and greed.
Thoughts are abrupt and as always without mercy,
A maze of shadows and doubt looms beneath the forgotten graves;
Sadness, sadness at those forlorn catastrophes.
So-called Wise men doubt of ways to see beyond the thickening trees,
Just as corrupt as everyone in the shadows of the crashing waves;
Closing their eyes to wisdom to embrace no possibilities.
Hope envelopes the few who can see beyond those terribly dark trees,
Though even the wisest will become nothing more than slaves;
Sadness, sadness at their continuing pursuits of their greeds.
The hopefuls see nothing new coming from the madness of the breeze,
No merciless thoughts of shadows and doubts beneath their remembered graves.
A greening and rooted seed of a forgotten catastrophe,
No longer saddened or corrupted by each passing breath of the seas.