Sunday, 11 July 2004

d e a d

To think of someone

who is dead, as being dead

requires a great mind.



To love somone

who is dead, as being dead

sustains old time.



The belief in death perpetuates the myth of life

And the falsities of the cycles of time.



An underpinning.

A flowing.

A pursuit of one's own.



There is only one word, and it means nothing.

There is forever a world, and it means nothing.



But nothing dissolves in the presence of something

And the balance may be regained,

What went has been

and

will

die

again.

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