The Ones Released

Could be they’re all contented.
Could be, you know, they don’t care.
Could be they don’t mind lost lives,
Don’t need to haunt your lives’ air.

You care about how they lived,
About some of them, at least.
You living are the hungry
Ghosts at life’s yesterday feasts.

The hundred billion others
And earlier animal
Selves could be contented since
All have turned into angels.

Which is to say, they’re all free—
Don’t exist, don’t have to be.