They lived with only the skin on their backs.
They lived with eyes that were as gray as the sky.
Their skin was as bright and cold as the snow.
Their arms and legs were muscled and withered,
from running,
running,
r u n n i n g .
Their voices only know of a whisper,
but they do not speak to one another.
The words that are clearly spoken,
are to the treetops.
Their words simply carried away,
up into the sunlight by the wind.
Who which only howls in return.
Their secrets beheld on the ledge of the peak,
all the way down to the flowing,
bubbling,
gurgling ocean.
Together alone,
they are the people who live on the ocean.
...................................
Their souls appear fulfilled,
but they only search for one thing.
Survival.
If they ever dare look you straight in the eye,
they can see past you.
They will instantly know you,
everything about you.
From the moment you were born,
to the second when you will enjoy,
your last delicate breath of life.
They would know what would happen to you,
and why.
They could easily eat and decieve your soul;
straight from your pupil.
They are an unspoken legend,
waiting to happen.
A human race,
waiting to develop.
Full of only desire,
no love.
A silent creature,
willing to defeat and devour,
everything in its path.
They are:
The people on the mountain.
The Underestimated.