The Memories

The Memories

 

 

 

 

Death’s particular smell lingers about

 

Hangs on a letter, hidden carefully

 

Unseen and cloaked in a masculine stout

 

Mentally unwound he trudges woefully

 

Scared and alone he wanders from his home.

 

Trying to escape the potent real pain

 

Many support him yet he goes on his own

 

Speaking in the moment, he fears the name

 

No longer afraid of death, just it’s friends

 

Death is simply just a passing overcast

 

Clouds split asunder against this worlds end

 

Because death only takes the future, not the past.

 

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