Demiurgic

  A scent it is For years, it lingers...   The freshly mowed grass fills the air,   Yet the mind recalls a distant green  The rain drizzles the night over  Yet the heart drowns in another rain  The body dances in ethereal pleasure  Yet the soul relishes in another delicacy.  A scent it is For years , it unravels the numbness of a death It is the last sense that may feel a presence Yet know the depth of that absence It is the light of a bizare hope Yet the weight of a reality It is the abode of living bonds Yet is a reminiscence of decay A scent it is For years, it sits in a moment A forgotten breath Yet the air that lingers An ache to hold Yet a touch to that bruise A voice that echoes Yet the footsteps fall still At last a scent it is For years, it gathered essence An artist's last vision Yet the end of a muse A poet's last line Yet the beginning of another poem A creator's last brick Yet the making of a universe. ~@anu__anil