And from the afterlife of death
derives this soft, sweet note:

Dear children of the planet,
spend your time wisely
but please do  cope with me as though you liked
what you are soon to see;

I am , alas, a sentient creature,
comical this might sound,
and under all my darkened features
you find a sentient heart.

Who* then, you might now ask, did take you
on the final trip?

I tell you this:
There is no journey from your land onto the other side
that I do not accopany;
but mark, although this might seem strange to you,
indeed I can see now how your eyes wide -
the crucial clue to the whole matter is:

What you now think is only for me true
and apt, is also what all of you do,
once crossed the line between your world,
and this.

Just like I am a Shadow in your mind
so are you of identic kind,
in mine.

*This note was naturally burnt immediately
after the churches of the world had spent
three days and nights
oppressing all upcoming fights
and riot deeds;

But what oppression needs
is more than that:

for this was not the only note, death's single letter,
no!

After three days and nights,
horizons were invaded with birght shining papers
with those same words
enough to read under all lights
next all bed sides of pairs of eyes
that feed on sentient words
from equal sentient beings.