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.