Death marks beauty

is death taboo?
should it be taboo?
it hasn’t been until i’ve aged
that death has been a topical subject.
we gloss over it.
we’re not to dwell on it.
but why not?
is it not a natural part of existence?
should we not teach what we grow
of its inexorable demise?
why not teach a acceptance
of ones own end,
instead of cushioning it with poesy?
buying into the notion of
slowing degeneration,
we’ve allowed a lie.
we see the inevitable
but we powder away it’s
unequivocal presence.
it’s only when we wash our face
that we see truly what we are.

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