Life, death, is there no in between?

And, if it is so declared by the masses

That the dead may be living,

Than why is the thought of

Those living dead meaningless.

I have seen this debated, whether

Those living are actually dying.

Science says “yes”, religion “yes”

It is hard to find a stubborn “no.”

 

I speak not of a literal dying, how easily remedied

By those is white coats, and with profession practiced.

Indeed, the living die on a clock,

Or so the news says

One-point-eight, every second

How can a human, spirit and all,

Be an eighth?  Such a fall

From a whole, even as the whole

Is passed over by those who fill holes.

 

So established, the living are dying, spiritually, emotionally,

But not socially, no not ever

A modern spirit would rather suffer in Hades

Than risk a missed opportunity to share with the world

What things of little importance they do.

Ah!  Herein we find the problem

Of our generation today, how

Each and every one of us

Has a story that’s gory, and

We cannot tell it out loud,

Lest our conscience and spirit meet for the first time.

 

How is it we value social health, which rises against an impossible model

Will not help but destroy a soul,

As a sole soul sells solely to the soul-reaper.

 

So, the dead walk the earth living again,

Questioning, like me, the ways of the dead living, those

Who choose to live dead. 

A solution?  Exists, but shan’t be obtained

For, to in this world succeed

Your soul must first be stained.