They are an anomaly,
Walking straight, yet lacking bravery.
They can hear but barely care,
They speak, but only when they must declare.

Who are they? What do they seem?
Shadows cast without a gleam.
Breathing life, yet void of worth,
Clinging to lies since their birth.

They stand so stiff, like statues cold,
Wandering lone, no hand to hold.
Their lips do move, yet words feel dead,
Whispering to voids inside their head.

But this is not just lifeless fate,
This is stiffness in dormant state.
Wrapped in dogma, "truth" they say,
Yet even masks will crack one day.

Penned by my hand on the 21st of Lupar, in the year 967 AF.