The Stench of Death

Beneath the scorching sun and a lifeless wind and a landscape covered in

blood,

there was a mood of life taken in violence and a horror that had come and

gone.

I walked among the scattered deceased and some looked up as if to see

Heaven,

Their eyes were as closed windows to a house without a soul.

Their flesh lay rotting in the blistering sun, their fluids mixed with the soil,

their bowels had emptied and breath had left their lungs,

and the stench of death was thick in the heavy air.

A meadow of flowers stood nearby and the fragrance of their blooms was

erased.

The sweetness of their blossoms which stood for love, peace, and joy,

was overcome with the fumes of rot that hovered over the landscape.

A thousand hearts lay silent in decomposing tombs built by death;

because a beating heart has no place among the ranks of the dead.

The sound of buzzing flies was like millions of unfamiliar voices,

and the squelch of feasting worms could be heard.

My ears were disgusted at what they received on this day,

and the stench of death was so pungent to all my senses.

Death is horrible and poetic in ways because it teaches us more about life,

as the one great equalizer it is fair for all those who are born.

For those who died for good or those who died for evil,

the stench of death from a corpse that lays rotting is the same.