Living Dead
To die is to live again,
While others lived like the dead,
Living life enduring pain,
Resigned and surrendered to fate;
What is living when we felt dread?
When we are absent from ourselves?
Strung to the likes of a marionette,
A guise hollowed abandoned to dwell;
To linger with no dream nor aim,
Nor ambitions that sparked a change,
Persist with comfort to stay the same,
Living life empty, self-estranged;
Lived false lives we grew to disdain,
Disillusioned with who we become,
To forfeit it all behind in vain,
Giving up on our dreams to succumb;
To feel indifferent is a scourge,
Without a dream, we shall perish,
Buried deep within for us to search,
A purpose deemed worthy of us to relish;
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