Photo by cottonbro from Pexels
The pain of death is excruciating, encircling, dam-bursting, maniacal
Cry Havoc! and let slip the dogs of vengeance
Upon death
No pain at all
But what pieces fall to the living.
I weep
Not for you
But for myself, without you.
For a life that walks no longer into the light.
Walks to the top of nothing. A life more empty than empty dirt.
A hill, and sky, and miles upon miles of morning silence.
Why? Why, in millions upon millions, you?
Why do God, and Man, and Mother Earth
Not let a man crawl into what space there is
Left at the bottom of a boat
Casting off
And lie there with the love of his life
Resting in his arms
The last breaths of her spirit he can feel
Knowing she will somehow know he is there
To take the travel with her
Carrying her
To where?
To who knows where.
“Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
W. H. Auden
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.“