Tower of Silence

It is a land of the dead.

All white marble.

No color.

No joy.

No life.

Forced to cross Styx and spend time among the shades.

Each step brings up dust clouds of memories.

Did I really live here?

Is live even the word for it?

And when gone, the stench of death follows, pervades, lingers.

I hate the land of death and dead memories.