Death stalks me like a secret lover
whom I cannot reveal
to anyone
I dread his intrusion into my thoughts
Yet seek him out compulsively
to know where he is at all times
to assure myself he is not here
not now
not yet
My counselor tells me
Never say never
Never say always
Never deal in absolutes
Never can know at all times
Yet Death will resolutely be absolute
when he comes into our pleasant country
and my beloved leaves for longer than a season
I will wonder
Where shall I live now
How will I know what year it is
When will sleep gather me into its arms
How will I be Me anymore
I’m told
Time is the true physician
It heals everything
I used to know that truism
until it stopped being true
when Death came into your country.
1 comment:
Very powerful poem. I like the image of death as a secret lover. It is such an intimate thing, isn't it? -- and even revealing him, one can't really reveal him. The rest of the world is outside the experience.
And the disorientation of Death's visit is so beautifully captured as well.
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