So often we fear death,
when yet, there are those
days where life has drawn
blinds and closed curtains,
to render dark the minutes
imprison cold, chilled, endless
hours, and then, suddenly, the
ear listens more carefully for
the knock of the reaper, wishing
it would come sooner and bring
an end to torment; halting the cruel
echo of grief, silencing the tapping
fingers of memory; cutting loose
at last, the mortality which feels to
such depth of being, imprisoned
in flesh and weeping blood; but it
does not happen like that....
when yet, there are those
days where life has drawn
blinds and closed curtains,
to render dark the minutes
imprison cold, chilled, endless
hours, and then, suddenly, the
ear listens more carefully for
the knock of the reaper, wishing
it would come sooner and bring
an end to torment; halting the cruel
echo of grief, silencing the tapping
fingers of memory; cutting loose
at last, the mortality which feels to
such depth of being, imprisoned
in flesh and weeping blood; but it
does not happen like that....
"halting the cruel
ReplyDeleteecho of grief, silencing the tapping
fingers of memory; cutting loose"
I can't remember when I read such a powerful piece on death before - it is so intense.
This is such a painful read.. When death feels like a savior it feels close to desperation.
ReplyDeleteA painful read indeed and much truth said there.
ReplyDeleteAnna
Very strong ending to your poem, Roslyn. We have images and expectations and there there is reality.
ReplyDeleteI like this poem and the contrast of how one may fear death and yet sometimes wish for it.
ReplyDelete