The Smell of Death

smell of death
Jean-François Millet [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Rotting away in a pile of waste

Where no men dwell, he makes no haste

His feet move to the tune of a hypnotic trance

A look in his eyes, puts you in a mystic dance.

Hold no fear, for he’s always near

When it’s your time, his footsteps you’ll hear

As calm as a daffodil, as tense as a knife

He’ll walk past you, with a smile in his eyes.

That is the moment in your life

You realize you haven’t done enough

Remembering the faces of the people,

Once you truly loved.

When those lingering fingers move down your neck

It starts to get cold with every breath

The last words on your lips try to escape,

But alas my friend, you reek of death.

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