Many leagues below the stormiest surface
are boiling vents, a gift from the earth’s belly
teeming with creatures seemingly oblivious
to the ease of existence found at the surface
or a brow unchoked by caked, soiled sweat
forced on them by aggravations of this depth
These white crabs unmarred by the black smoke
streaming from the belly of the tumultuous earth
surrounded by licking tongues fossilized in place
crushed by the leagues of space surrounding
forever imprisoned to their quest to continue life
and fated to wait on the whimsy of a hot belly
snuffed out by a stemmed tide, cooled in time.
To find them, search in the greatest depths known
swim into the darkness and suffocating blackness
squeezed by the weight of undeserving life so careless
and soon lost in the caverns of an underwater world
forgotten by a people with lungs desperate for relief
immortalized by vile, hardened creatures so cold
too unpleasant for a glance by the unenlightened eye.
They do not need approval to keep existing and moving
passing time as though it were only a step in space
and the resting spot for gods without vanity to assuage
for the world will continue to turn onward, unknowing
as it drags the depths along a path unmarked by stars
drawing all life to an inevitable conclusion unremarked
without the benefit of an all-knowing prophecy.
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