November '22 Edition: 'Death' Pt. 1

Death is on my mind.

Anywhere else, it is waiting, hiding, listening. It lurks in the corner of the lips,

at the tip of a kitchen knife, and hangs on the edge of the window sill.

I contemplated for a few nights - what shall I write for this monthly post?

Death seemed too grim. But then again, how fragile must we be that we cannot handle such susceptibility? How vulnerable are we that mendacity soothes us, yet reality haunts us?

It frightens you. You bleed in chilling terror, gasping for air, hoping, praying, begging.

For what? That he spares you?

You believe, now, in anguish, in a god who will save you?

You are so caught up in fear - in your screams and sighs, that you do not see that real beauty is terror.

What you love, you must also be afraid of.

These violent delights have violent ends and, in their triumph, die like fire and powder, which, as they kiss, consume.

What is beauty if not terror?

What, that is beautiful is not also powerful and destructive?

How tragic for you to think that death is terror, yet beauty is peace; that you see beauty in peace but not beauty in terror

How tragic that you do not realise that love is not remembering

But the fear of forgetting.

What you love, you are afraid of.