Some Fortunate Dead

Those, who are gone, left in the memory, An incredulous effect. No one can believe that these folks, Then and there, are no more. They are gone in the sea, Without saying goodbye, they are living in the black space. The dead are never gone, they are missing, buried In an inexplicable void. They are somewhere; nowhere. They neither live nor breathe. They are scattered In the hearts, in the erroneous minds of the street, somewhere. It was yesterday that the new dead were laughing and dreaming, It was this morning that I saw them live, live, in flesh. I thought they were all the close friends of Methos. Those, who are hardly living, abruptly found peace, The rest they sought since the first leap of the heart; They are now away from fear, sorrow and pain.