I can be death, I can be life, be both, and strive
I can be empty, or only half-full, and still be alive
Death doesn’t rule me like a domineering wife
I don’t despise it, I think it is a mere blunt knife
The shallow only appears deep to the ones that fear
I carry fear without worry, like a sack on my rear
Futilely weep the processions of the near and dear
The last words in the post-script are: always cheer
We are only denizens here; birth gives us that right
like laughter in an alien realm, a walk in the night
We have but the trump cards of wisdom and insight,
to walk the wet slippery floor, and yet, to walk upright
Life is a residue that keeps regenerating over time
Yes, a race can’t continue after the finishing line
Death seems the end, but is the blowhorn of a moment
What lies beyond for the worthy is an ecstatic romance
I really loved this
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