The Deceased

They come and go,
Like a pendulum, to and fro,
They make me happy and want to cry,
Even after we had said our goodbyes.
They build up illusions,
Of their presence,
I find no solutions,
But to cater to their pretence.
I live another day,
Seeing them all fade away,
Another night comes by,
Bringing them all into life.
But I’ve learned to make friends,
Make friends with the deceased,
Hoping that one day,
We’ll all find some peace.

Image credits: Pixabay

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