We are the human ones...
the running, fervent, fleeting ones.
They are the voicing ones...
The crying, grasping, groping ones.
And through a lonely space a voice is traveling...
Through the wind, it's only home.
Wind is the howling one,
The freezing, dark and stinging one...
Home is the loving one...
the longing, warming, calling one...
And they're perpetuated through their voice
and neither can we remain stationary nor leave...
for the earth, it is our chain.
For us, communication is not transparent...it lies within us...in our hidden souls. Yet the voicing ones...yes, they can see through.
But we cannot see them...for they aren't mortal beings...rather, substance...which is so far above us.
What are they to humans? Why are they so special?
The answer lies within the wind...elusive....never to be found and trapped.
What are they? They are mortal dreams...unattainable and always moving...
Out of reach, yet always sought.
We are a Naked Race.
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