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Death
We will always have death,
As long as birth survives
Death will follow,
In our plastic fantasy
Material world we seldom
Come face to face
With someone’s final seconds,
When it’s violently unexpected
It always leaves you horrifyingly empty,
The young woman on the streets of Iran
The people we never see on our streets
The unseen thousands blasted away
By bombs, missiles, heavy guns, mines,
Far too often of our own making.
Stephen Nesbitt ©
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