Death is an orphan. No body fathers a popular cataclysm. Death is mysterious. A kind of cosmetic contingency, that is. Unforeseen and stealthy. Painful. Unannounced. Dark and fickle. Sometimes sought after. Other times, and most often, wished away. It can be bitter. Like bile. It can be sweet and melodious. It is mostly used as a curse. Rarely seen as a blessing. Hence a double edged sword.
