What comes after -
the funereal dance macabre -
the steps they take to make you go from here to there
the tone is altered, along the hollow 'done-undone' lines-
to that you go, to that you return.
Mirth, they say, is but another way to cry.
The fake nothingness which follows
is but a willed-out extension of our life's void.
The act was performed, the sane got saved.
The dead kept quiet.
The willow-trees gently chanted, in whispers, its song to well-trained ears.
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