Maybe the world did end that day
Perhaps we all have burned
Our bodies now no more than ash
Spread far across the fallow plains
And cast into the boiling seas
Thrown by a hot, dead wind
And yet, upon some other plane
Our souls persist to live
And thus we too perceive that we too live
Our lives continue, untouched by fire
But if we’re dead and cannot tell
Is death then life and life then death?
Is reality nothing but a mirror
Reflecting our living illusion?
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