When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox
when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,
and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,
and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,
tending, as all music does, toward silence,
and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.
When it's over, I want to say all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it's over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.
I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.
Oh my lord. What a fantastic piece of writing. Truly beautiful. Thank you Mary Oliver xxx
When death comes like a starving wolf pouncing on a helpless lamb,
I am the meat, but He is the blood, and death does not own me, for I am the slave of another Man.
When death comes like the jailer with the keys to the door,
I step into the brightness, neither to wonder or wander anymore.
And I look back to see time was but a map, showing the paths to narcissism and the paths to love,
stairs to the loneliness below, and stairs to the friendship above.
And each name a delight in my mouth, each friend my sumptuous meal,
rendering me nourished, satisfied, whole, and real.
When all is said and done, I am just a domino in a long line,
and on queue, I fall tipping another, for no one can simply visit time.