Roaming Sympathy

we are the children of them lost.

we are not here, we hold no cost.

whatever ever happened before time.

lucky to know there is no miracle or crime.

we are a sense of being alive.

we are not cleansed, we never thrive.

whoever wanders finds a home.

and carries warmth along his roam.

we are the problem within solute.

never got tangled up to the root. 

whenever hardened and despaired.

we play tricks that only blare.

we are more within our less.

we shine in peace, we rule in mess.

for every always will envy never.

until your sky bears your weather.