Death is no destruction
Death is a fleeing
A bid for freedom on the part of the soul
Death is a migration to higher ground
As the body succumbs to a mortal tide
Collapsed like a bridge upon weak, rotting struts
The flesh is brought low beneath weight of the years
And the soul, from a precipice crumbling fast
Springs on the wind of self-preservation
Soars on upon wings which are dormant no more
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