the irony of death

The mellow white of eggshell leads to a door so black,
Its blinding white.
The smell of antiseptic and sweet lollipops fills like a
Smack in the face.
To see you lying and dying in front of my face is so
Much an unbelieved haze of emotions which hang like
A storm cloud over a torrent ocean.
The eclipse is like the night and the street is lit with fire
Of morning glory.
The larks of birds fly over and ring music through my
Ears, like an orchestra of colorful imagination.
And the war has begun only so just begun in a fire of
So much hate and death.
The war of life but not fought, never fought, a battle lost
To time and never won.
So those mornings of the songs of larks and nightingales
Are gone, gone forever.
That stench of sweet antiseptic will always remain among
My mind and memories of times past and loves lost.
Will always remain among those wet stormy nights, and
Those warmly chilled mornings of sweetest aromas.