There is something about the scent of death,
The odour perplexes the mind,
Pungent, sickly, memorable,
A reminder of everything dark imagined.
It lingers beneath the skin,
Long after the body is gone,
Awakening primal instincts,
Whispering that all flesh is temporary.
We speak of courage and understanding,
We dress mortality in philosophy and faith,
That smell strips away every comforting illusion,
Leaving only the certainty:
That one day we too shall become memory,
A name upon the lips of others,
A shadow lingering in fading recollections,
And silence carried upon the wind.
Dan Verkys 