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[Pixabay](https://pixabay.com/photos/search/not%20quite%20dead/)
Not quite gone, the whisper endures.
A flicker of light through darkest fog,
A trembling hand, a brief spark,
That dares to shine against the darkness.
Though the world may believe the end is near.
Still something stronger still here,
A tenacious fire, a silent battle,
A shadow reaching back toward brightness.
Bruised and worn but not quite dead,
A soul that has been battered, damaged, and torn,
Still clinging to a delicate strand,
Still fantasizing where the frail once bled.
Though little, though feeble, it stands thus.
A pulse that triumphs over all,
a soft voice fed the quietness
I haven't yet passed; not really dead.