Are illusions really real?

Is it all 

just an illusion

in our heads 

that the living are,
 a little more kinder 

than those who are
most definitely dead?

That the world 

seems to snugly fit,

the tacit frames

in our minds

so that,

just when we decide
 to be a little more kind, 

it changes itself again,

excavating questions

that were hidden

beyond secretly

bold apparitions,

which have now

made their way 

to the surface of our beliefs, 

for the moment, 

to be here,

for the moment

to be safe?