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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