After the first death,
Every day is another
Resurrection, life
Again and again.
It’s not special. It’s common.
Have you dreamed? Then you’ve been there.
Have you slept? Then you’ve been dead.
It’s only that some of us
Have fallen from cliffs.
Some of us have walked through fires,
Crawled out of our frozen ponds.
We’re not special, but we’re not,
In the way the rest of you
Think of us, liars.
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