Katabasis

Katabasis

You've never seen death.
You won't.
There's something to face, to be sure—
A wholeness to slip into.
We grasp at it:
Something underneath;
Something outside;
Light? Dark? Black? White?
Meaningless distinctions against the blinding, absolute verity.

You won't see death.
You've never seen it.
The death rattle is a life rattle.
The rot you smell?
Life.
Disease? Putrefaction?
Living, breathing humoral expressions.
Our decrepit and our enfeebled have not fallen under death's shadow.
They are expressions of individuality:
Pulsing prolixity pushing ever onward;
Outskirted particularity, 
Beset against its animizing center;
Genera's transcendent order.