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Death, in whichever form it comes, is still death;
"My other half is life", it might whisper seductively,
"full of suffering and despair.
Come to me and feel my soft velvet embrace."
It is still death: final, irrevocable and complete.
The final curtain call; no encores.
The audience has not gone;
they just can't see you, hear you.
Death knows nothing of reason or fairness.
There is no right of appeal.
A thing done is a thing done, and
"by the way, here is my calling card:
A serving of grief and pain; and a reminder,
(a warning, if you would prefer),
Make use of the time you have left.
You're on my list too."
Les Bush
2011
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