Ode From Hidden Kingdom

Yesterday a mail came to us.

From where?

A place that we don't recognize.

What it was?

It's a epistle from a Kingdom.

Which Kingdom?

A hidden kingdom made by us.

Where it is?

At the depth of the ocean.

How they're there?

They are laid down under the

discarded pliants, broken chalices,

crushed bottles, shattered glasses, forgotten plastic bags and

cinder blocks casted aside by us.

What they quoted?

They lamented and avowed,

" Its so ironical,

You made us yet

you never visit us down here,

You never ask how we spend our days doing down in the blazing murk.

We always gaze up at the surface and

perceives a panorama of kicking legs,

boat bottoms and human's halves?

We are here only treading water,

letting ourselves paling in the cold,

Yet you are turning away from us.

Or perhaps you wonder how a world could be formed under the junk, dirt and

scruffs dumped by your kind.

Ah now I realize why you never visit,

But irrespective of fact that we are anomalous and unexpected,

We are also aberrant and warped form of verisimilitude.

We are here, 

In this hazy blazing murk,

Don't turn a blind eye on us.

We are here,

We are down here

Laying under the forsake floss."