Bubbles

The people I've met, the things that I test, the clouds that contest, and the sun that emits, are all taken in, by a perceiving machine, molded into a ball, and dissolved in the sea

Like a bubble that hovers upon the fragile atomosphere, containing within the chemicals that seemingly make it exist, pop it goes, upon the nose of a child, as he/she smiles in jubilant bliss. They understand the insanity in which we who have lost the way live in, to them it is hillarious.

Or maybe they like bubbles...It's poetry people what do ya expect?