In the distance,
I can hear the birds chirping.
Sweet sounds of nature
filter through, as people are lurking.
They stand around,
they cry
at the newly-dug grave,
and I sigh.
Was there ever a point,
just a fraction
in time when they knew it would end,
that I'd loose what I thought was mine?
After all, here I lay now.
I'm dead.
Or at least, so I think,
for thats what was said.
I can smell the freshly turned up earth-
Is this what corpses are?
they have no breath stuck in their lungs,
but they have perceptions, near and far.
I'm supposed to be gone.
That's what I was taught.
But I can hear stiffled whispers,
I can hear cries as they're caught.
Maybe I'm not dead, then.
Maybe the reality is,
that although something is over,
something new can begin.
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