Is it all
just an illusion
in our heads
that the living are,
a little more kinder
a little more kinder
than those who are
most definitely dead?
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,
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?
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