Death

What do you see each day?
Besides a million corpes of the young and old,
Human and animal.
What is it like to take their last breath,
And breathe in the smell of smoke or ashes or sick?
    Carry them away.
Take them,
Keep them safe,
Soothe their shaking shoulders,
Calm their troubled minds,
And continue your job.
     Are they all,
In death, small and unoticable?
Or do they carry their spirits in a certain scent,
A spicy pepermint for that girl over there with the pale blonde hair,
A scent of old books for the older woman you met last night.
The man in the corner,
Surely smells of woodstove smoke,
Just as the young lady left outside in the rain smells of unlit cigars.
     As the sun light moves across the sky,
So people are dying,
Falling over and groaning in pain.
The moon rises to more deaths,
In sickly slumber.
     Does the old man joyfully come with you,
Glad to have lived a full life and ready to rest?
Does the young girl repent in agony,
Crying over her short life,
Wishing she "lived" more.
The wasted woman came to you,
Wanting you to take her and her troubles with you,
Her mind filled with missed conections and lost dreams.
     I will see you one day,
And ask you all these questions.
I promise I won't sob or wail.
I will welcome you with open arms,
And we will embrace.