The Reaper doth smell

I push open the door

and the smell hits me.

That medicinal scent,

the scent of the ill and dying.

I walk forwards, quietly, lightly.

The inner door opens

and the odour intensifies.

Filling my nose like a plague.

I hug the man,

muttering my heartfelt concern.

I enter the room,

full of family, eyes filled with unsaid dread.

And then I see her, once vibrant,

once strong, once full of life.

Now a shell, body withered.

Her eyes are still bright,

looking at me from her skull like face.

In spite of it all, she smiles,

welcomes me warmly with soft words.

She cannot stand, her body too weak.

I sit, and share stories of my week.

We talk, her body sinking further

into the cushions. Hands held gently,

so as to keep from breaking them, so delicate.

Still she laughs, her spirit strong.

I look aside, and seem him there.

Some call him 'Death', others 'The Reaper',

but I know him as 'The Guide'.

He is ready to help her through to the light.

Through to everlasting peace.

Just not yet, he will wait patiently,

not until she is ready will he help her.

He is the presenter of peace, of harmony.

He is built from love.

Do not fear him, if you are good.