Deep Blue Something

Souls suffer the landscape
In shrouds of dew, as ghosts.
Their eternity is for searching
But a certain dissnsion grows.
I've seen them wander,
Voices raised in prayer
Consorting in whisper,
They curse the ones not there.
If you didn't want this and I didn't need it,
Then how has this interest become an addiction?
If you didnt want it, then why cant you do without?