On Transience
Everything is useless in terms of awareness
Of the inevitable transience of what was us
No valuable compensation for this mess
But just illusions with naivety of trust
They are so easy to be thoroughly despised
That maybe it’s a hint at something more
Which cannot be revealed or fully realized
As if we lived before and afterwards it blurred
So maybe we should care about illusions
They’re here for a reason, to remind
That we could take much simpler the intrusions
Of the transitional removal left behind.
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