Ars moriendi (The Art of Dying)

From cold and distant mountains came
The news that you were gone;
A thousand stars stood silently,
Upon the edge of speech and thought,
While I — I held you one last time:
A shadow, frail and tiny, not
The storm, the ocean wave
You used to be

And there, amid the midnight chill,
I heard a song like summertime;
Like fireflies, the stars,
Those faithful thanes,
Were swarming overhead
To leave the skies in drops I knew
Had not come from
The eyes I show the world

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

2 thoughts on “Ars moriendi (The Art of Dying)”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s