Matter Of Fact

Byron · Post by **Byron** » Mon Jan 05, 2004 1:28 am

Death washes around my soul without resolve
The waiting game smiles at me from the forest
Matter replaces matters insoluble and unseen
Whiling away dawns and zephyrs loosely tide
Gauze, smoke, drawing me upwards
Ashes to be ashes
Dust to be dust
Inevitable

lizzytysh · Post by **lizzytysh** » Mon Jan 05, 2004 1:43 am

I appreciate your way of dealing with death in this poem, Byron. Not having meant to use a pun, I will complete its use by saying that it's a hand we're destined to lose. Two things we all have in common are that we were born and we will die. However, knowing this doesn't make loss through death any easier.

~ Elizabeth

Byron · Post by **Byron** » Mon Jan 05, 2004 2:04 am

Thanks Elizabeth. I may wish to differ on the point about us losing that particular hand. I can certainly sympathise and empathise with those who have lost a loved one. We all have. However, speaking on a purely personal note, I don't see it as losing to death, which has thankfully lost its 'sting' for some people.
I've heard some interesting stories of late which have reinforced the return of a lapsed belief. But that is only for me to ponder, and not for public consumption.

Regards. Byron.

Sandra · Post by **Sandra** » Mon Jan 05, 2004 2:31 am

let me put this here please Byron!!
TO ONE SHORTLY TO DIE . (W Whitman)
From all the rest I single out you, having a message
for you;
You are to die - Let others tell you what they please, I
cannot prevaricate,
I am exact and merciless; but I love you - there is no
escape for you.
Softly I lay my right hand upon you - you just feel it;
I do not argue - I bend my head close, and half-
envelop it,
I sit quietly by - I remain faithful,
I am more than nurse, more than parent or neighbour,
I absolve you from all except yourself, spiritual,
bodily - that is eternal -
The corpse you will leave will be but excrementitious.
The sun bursts through in unlooked for directions!
Strong thoughts fill you, and confidence - you smile!
You forget you are sick, as I forget you are sick.
You do not see the medicines - you do not mind the
weeping friends - I am with you.
I exclude others from you - there is nothing to be
commiserated,
I do not commiserate - I congratulate you.

Byron · Post by **Byron** » Mon Jan 05, 2004 3:04 am

Thank you Sandra.
Another piece by him.....

When lilacs last in the door-yard bloomed,
And the great star early drooped in the western sky in the night,
I mourned.... and yet shall mourn with ever-
returning spring.
O ever-returning spring! trinity sure to me you bring;
Lilac blooming perennial, and drooping star in the west,
And thought of him I love.
O powerful, western, fallen star!
O shades of night! O moody, tearful night!
O great star disappeared! O the black murk that hides the star!
O cruel hands that hold me powerless! O helpless soul of me!
O harsh surrounding cloud that will not free my soul!
In the door-yard, fronting an old farm-house, near the whitewashed palings,
Stands the lilac bush, tall-growing, with heart-
shaped leaves of rich green,
With many a pointed blossom, rising delicate, with the perfume strong I love,
With every leaf a miracle; and from this bush in the door-yard,
With delicate-coloured blossoms, and heart-shaped leaves of rich green,
A sprig, with its flower, I break.
In the swamp, in secluded recesses,
A shy and hidden bird is warbling a song.
Solitary, the thrush,
The hermit, withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settlements,
Sings by himself a song.
Song of the bleeding throat!
Death's outlet song of life - for well, dear brother, I know,
If thou wast not gifted to sing, thou would surely die.

Thank you Sandra. Regards. Byron.
Another thrush is always welcome.