Entering the doors of afterlife is a norm.
A fact of the world left untalked.
After a beloved leaves the life to enter peace.
Time goes on, but familiar whispers, footsteps are missed,
And the good of the foregone stays ripe in the mind.
All say ill speaking of the past in the room is a crime.
Irony that the one who was present craved for praise.
When he is past, the talks in mass are good in all place.
The bad is buried or burnt with the flesh.
The irony is the good talk that stays afresh.
Baffling are the critical talks as norm in life.
Be it who, time is ready at back with knives.
Hard is to get a praise for good when living.
Talk of good would've avoided the slept from sleeping.
One of humanity's irrational reasons.
Making truth bad and honest in treason.
What's the relevance when none knows the soul.
What do good words do for the indestructible soul.
A soul with no emotions shines as a light.
As it hears the redundant lies.
As it passes it speaks to self in strife.
More will mean when the good is spoken in life.
Happy could be many and may still not be in afterlife.
