Today is the anniversary of someone's death,
Someone mourned by widow and son,
Someone who's legacy has faded into the ether:
a man, a woman,
a child.
And what eulogy is spoken by grieving tongues
for the dead who's legacy
has evaporated from memory?
They have died once
a breathless body, cold breast,
and once more,
when their name,
a devise of their mortal anatomy,
is spoken for the last time.
But they are remembered, not by name,
or kindling memory,
but in the fear of darkness,
the prayers to our ceiling and
the bitter taste of sadness.
Spirits reflected by the very anguish
that ripped the facade of life
from their throats.

We fear death for two reasons:

pain
and
forgetting