ENVY OF A GHOST

the dead, they sleep beneath the trees
in the dirt where no man sees


all the living walk above
some in hatred, others love


few have realized the truth
or successfully surpassed their youth


the folly and the imagery
of a man, a woman walking free


is such a blunder to the ghost
that wishes for what we have most


unless you've kissed the lips of death
or came upon your one last breath


you cannot fully grasp the gem
that is the gift from which life stems


the prize, a chance at being here
dipped in excitement, love, and fear


oh the dead, how they envy
and wish to join the worlds assembly


but alas, they are asleep
until the night comes, they shant creep


watching over you, and I
with phantasmagoric silent cries


if only we knew what the cost
how priceless is a life that's lost


so leave a coin when you do go
into the graveyard, walking very slow


and clear a headstone off from leaves
for the souls of the dead see life, and grieve

This poem is about: 
Our world

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