Death comes back, and again.
It used to hit in the tumult of youth.
Disappearance. Torture. Murder.
Gripping us with its enormity.
Planting us in the middle
of the unbelievable.
Truth was impossible,
normalcy the delusion of an ostrich.
A storm of bullets sieved the night,
through which our tenderest dreams
the lover we would never see again,
the friend now gone.
Those of us who lived,
keeping the others
in the eternal youth of memory,
are now letting them fade,
as we in turn trickle away
through more natural sieves.
Yet in the twilight flicker,
I dream the tree of life
side by side with my dead ones,
bursting with seeds.
Exploding into huge, red apples.
Apples of Knowledge,
And Death meets Life,
and Life meets Death,
and all is whole again.
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