The Dead Don't Know They’re Dead
Are we truly living, or shadows instead..
Are we breathing at all, or silent and dead?
Is this life just a flicker the cosmos has shown..
A half-faded echo we claim as our own?
They speak of a tunnel, a widening light..
Where loved ones appear in the softening white.
But who’s ever proven what waits when we roam..
Is it leaving this life, or arriving back home?
What if that glow we believe marks our death..
Is really the moment we draw our first breath?
What if the voices that whisper “Hello..”
Are welcoming someone they’ve waited to know?
Perhaps every ending is something we’ve grown..
A loop ever turning, a seed ever sown.
Maybe the soul never drifts off alone..
It circles and circles through worlds yet unknown.
So are we alive, or adrift in a dream..
Catching reflections of things that have been?
Maybe we're ghosts in a body we’ve flown..
Never quite sure what is new… or what’s known.
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