The Dirge of death
The idea of death
is a dream
you and I watch
with heavy-lidded
open eyes.
The smoke has swirled
its last now.
The haze and craze
have died down.
The last of the bells
tolled last night
when we dreamt our fight
and the monster died.
We shall look
back now
with pride.
We entered, we gazed
upon the book
of deeds.
We sighed, we cried,
and we died.
Now we shall rise
with the morning mist
as it twirls lazily around a red sun.
We shall not die now.
Never, never, never.
We have paid our dues,
we have passed the coin
into the hands of Charon.
The ferryman wants not anymore.
Neither do we.
The idea of death
is a dirge
the living sing,
swaying, chanting, murmuring
like new waves against
an old, dead shore.
The dead lie
when they curl up and die.
They hide
their silver wings,
smooth as a rainbow’s bend,
beneath their life’s end.
The wings will flutter,
and the best way to flutter is to flutter.
We shall not die.
Never, never, never.
So come, my love,
let us not be guiled by night
or day or light or gray.
Let us fly, let us fly,
when the ink stain
spreads in the sky.
The idea of death?
We shall fall down, laughing.
We shall not die.
Never, never, never.
The words are woven as if by an enchanted thread. I love the effortless flow of the words, one stanza marrying the other, and the laughter that stands tall at the end, stands tall and proud and mighty in the face of the ultimate defeat: death. I love the stanza that begins “the smoke has swirled…” You should write more poetry. This poems makes me want to sing it, and you should know that I have a horrible singing voice. : )
oh btw… in my fav. stanza, it should be “the haze and craze HAVE died down” instead of has.
Awesome going man…beautiful. No negative critique I can think of.
Your obsession with death is creepy. Most of your work I’ve read is errr…deadly. The poem has a very loftly feel to it probably because of the repetition. The narrator sounds like someone more than human. Good going!