Balsamic scent floats all over the house, all over the garden,
It dances on the tip of our tongues, it begs for pardon.
It whirls like dust, bright lilac, and it stains our teeth.
Who will be the first to stop drinking it?
Who will realize we are stuck in a heath?
The thick odour keeps attacking the senses in gentle gushes.
Sickly sweet particles contaminate the air and everything it touches.
Our faces are paralyzed, our eyes roll back in the skulls.
Who will be the first to breathe out?
Who will call out death’s tricks and lulls?
It appears there’s no other way out of the swelling fog,
The mist bathes us in sorrow, is this the epilogue?
The fragrant symphony threatens to overpower the sky.
Who will be resilient enough to exile it?
Who will defy another night to stay alive?
-JW
The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright 