Divergent Attitudes Toward Death

“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.”  Dylan Thomas

“Just as if a god told you that you would die tomorrow or at least the day after tomorrow, you would attach no importance to the difference of one day, unless you are a complete coward (such is the tiny gap of time); so you should think there no great difference between life to the umpteenth year and life to tomorrow.”  Marcus Aurelius

“You are a little soul carrying a corpse.”  Epictetus

Do Not Go Gentle…

Seneca

Once Again

All the cries and despairs,
All the wounds and daily cares,
All the anxieties and their scares…
Now, just fallen leaves, dead leaves,
Once again.

All the dreams and their joys,
All the schemes and sly ploys,
All the hopes and attaboys…
Now, just fallen leaves, dead leaves,
Once again.

But then another spring comes around
So lush, new-born leaves abound,
Once again.

All Poetry — Just Fallen Leaves

My Story

A Lost Glove

A lost glove on the ground,
Its pair equally at a loss somewhere,
Just as a long-lived partner,
Separated by death, soldiers on.

When your soul’s companion departs,
How do you answer when no one replies;
How do you spend time without the other;
How do you accept?

Alone on a solitary journey
Not by choice, but here I am…
Just a lost glove on the ground,
A lost glove, nothing more.

All Poetry — Henry Barnard

My Story

Youth Suicide

Heart breaking story of a young woman living in the West Village who hanged herself. Left a note saying in effect that she always felt alone even when with friends.  I suppose that means we all need to have a real connection with someone else at some point or the soul spirals downhill.  Also in the note, she apologized to her mother for what she was about to do.

My Story

White Point Garden, Charleston

M.F. Williams, William Gilmore Simms, Charles Lee, William Jasper —

You walk past these obscure names unknowingly.

Just names carved in stone long, long ago

Before your time…before our time.

 

You walk by the names unknowingly,

Their memory tarnished by time’s forgetfulness.

No doubt, brave souls and valorous every one,

But not even stone resurrects their remembrance.

 

In New England, this very day, snowflakes come down.

One by one they land on the ground,

Yet when the warm spring comes around,

All the flakes are gone with no trace or sound.