Steven Yolland’s poem about death is a jewel that I wish I had written. Since I didn’t, I’m borrowing it here so my readers can read it.
There are days, when I can smell the sweetness of death.
Please do not be alarmed.
I do not seek death, nor wish it.
But as one gets older and friends drop off you cannot help but think, what is that like? Eh?
Did it feel like anything? Or nothing?
And am I afraid of dying or being dead,
or am I simply afraid of leaving,
and being left out of what comes next?
And sometimes, I think
How calming it must be
To put down the cares, the day by day, the grinding
and simply sleep, deeply. Deep. Dreamlessly.
Less … dreams.
And if I am welcomed to a place
where all fears are stripped away well,
then that will be nice too.
So either way, it’s OK, I guess.
Sometimes, I can smell the sweetness of death.
We may as well. No one’s come back to complain.
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