I fear the dead,
but pity the living
for in their mortal toils
and stumbles and falls,
the unbearable pain and the happiness that foils
whenever destiny's adventure calls.
The eventual pain, almost all must endure.
The blazing rain, not all can see.
But those burnt stay strong...be sure
of the lock to which only they have the key.
The pain matters as much
as that of an ant.
but one ant to another such,
its more than just a rant.
we bind together, with goosebumps as our sword,
a subtle tip,
a stream's silent ford.
We'll strike at the hip,
and see them falter.
Running scared of a tip,
of cracked mortar.
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