death senses

                               I feel Wooden walls surround me on all sides.
                               




                              I hear shoveling dirt suppress me and all cries.






                                I see only black and nothing of what it hides.







                              I taste stale death as I realize what it implies.





                       My heart speeds up as I go to place what I can smell.
                     I expect nothing less then the burning brimstone of hell.





                 


                


              But to my utter surprise I smell.... my butterscotch candle instead.


                  I feel the softness of the pillows where I once laid my head.


   I hear the soothing sound of breathing coming from the love who shares my bed.


                  I have the aftertaste of my last and favorite meal I was fed.
   

                              I see the light none could see if not dead.




I gladly accept that someone heard the prayers and I get to rest in peace instead.