I made a joke of it:
attending funerals
as the price of survival—
saying goodbye, adios
as their souls ascended
to meet eternity, look
down occasionally
on our plight
of being human
and whisper in our ears.
With no wants,
they must envy
the depth of our passion
and its sensitive
entanglements, our pride
erected and dedicated
for their inspection.
We are never alone.
Although often lonesome . . .
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Good to make the distinction, Peter. Thanks 🙂
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Often we make jokes to help us through our own mortality
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Love this one… my dad continues to smile down at me through rainbows… I feel never alone ❤
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How nice! 🙂
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Love the image and the poem in perfect combination. Great job!
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Thanks, Moon 🙂
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Beautiful! Both the poem and the picture!
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Thanks, Totsie 🙂
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