I can tolerate Death
I can tolerate Death and His puppeteering strings.
Always breathing down my neck, always plotting, always scheming,
clinging from my ankle, plucking feathers off my wings.
And even in my visions, even in my dreaming
of Love, of You, of healing Art,
I find myself, not blissful, but a little short of breath.
And it’s not Hope or Caution nor my beating heart,
but what keeps me alive's that I can tolerate Death.
This I like! Superior imaginative observations about the
finality of existence, our fears and our resistance to its
intrusion into our minds.
I'm reminded of the opening lines of a favourite poem from
the past:
Lady Life's a piece in bloom
Death goes dogging everywhere;
She's the tenant of the room,
He's the ruffian on the stair.
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Mae Foreman
Tue 25th Sep 2018 19:25
Thank you! I'm glad you like it!
Lovely words, beloved Henley! To put it plainly there's a reason for the cliche: "Live like there's no tomorrow". It's the mortal dread- mortal being the operative word-It's the fear of death that drives us, that makes us appreciate life, that makes us want to add meaning and purpose and make something extarordinary out of our otherwise ordinary and random existence.