Rage

 

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

 

 

“Do not go gentle  unto that good  night, old age  should burn and rave at close of day, rage rage against the dying  of the 20161029_112017.jpg20161029_131604.jpglight”
  -Dylan Thomas

Sometimes it does not
take much,
A random match
to light the flame.

The grey fog
Once appearing
Fairy tale enchanting ,
suddenly seems
Suffocating.

“Rain
Or snow,
shake,
move,
Act in ways
i know”
You command
a silent sky.

Holding on
to numbing thoughts
gloveless
nails bitten,
Inner voice
ignored.

November gloom
bringing thoughts
of doom.
Hidden light,
grey undertones
the temporary shades
of yellow,
Soon to disappear
in what can not remain
mellow.

It’s all about
the past holding
to a heel,
an inability
to bow down
or kneel
to something greater
than yourself.

A new building rising
from well planned foundation,
and all the while
inside the  brown earth
gathering the years
climbing gradually with rage
like drum roll;
The rage.

Posted from WordPress for Android

About seagullsea

a seagull flying over the great ocean of life observing.
This entry was posted in planetary life, poetry, poetry in motion. Bookmark the permalink.

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