The eyes of the dead
see what we,
so easily,
pass by in our
day to day
rush;
see what we,
so easily,
take for granted;
see what they,
so easily,
let slide through
fingers of mist.
The eyes of the dead
view the world
as if through a
looking glass,
a world of
double glass,
pains of
reflection.
The eyes of spirits
witness the shortcomings
of every breath
the living
waste.
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