El Dia de los Muertos They Live in the Stories We Remember.

We are all scared
It's spooky times.

A baby's first wail worried
having to breathe. At
some deep brain level
knowing without breath
I'll die.

(Pain is different but can include the
suffering fear begets. Pain creates anger,
aggression or peace.)

Conscious, or Un like in a crib or a nightmare,
existence
creates the fear of losing it.

The idea of what might be lost is scary.
(Even
when the thing that's gone
wasn't that great
after all.)

Plus some things never die.
Ancient Pharaohs, Kings and Queens
Heros, Hobos, Villains and Sluts
march around at least once a year
alive in our memories, along with our fear.

(If a statute stands in an empty museum is it an effective tribute? Probably, if people know it's there.)