Death and sadness
Woe upon woe
Dickinson
Plath
Atwood
Poe
Ever the hard row to hoe
How is it that you know me so?
Ye who proffer pain and poison
doom and gloom
leaders of the somber cortège
through my mind’s spare room
speak to me, my muses
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there,
wondering, fearing,
doubting,
dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.
I measure every Grief I meet
With narrow, probing, eyes –
I wonder if It weighs like Mine –
Or has an Easier size.
The boundaries which divide Life from Death
are at best shadowy and vague.
Who shall say where the one ends,
and where the other begins?
Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me –
I’m telling the wrong lies,
they are not even useful.
The right lies would at least
be keys, they would open the door.
The woman is perfected.
Her dead
Body wears the smile of accomplishment,
The illusion of a Greek necessity
Dying
Is an art, like everything else.
Oh, Rich Irony!
the Final
Breathing
Out
Out
Out…
Inspires.
Even in the grave, all is not lost.
