A Short Poem on Death

[zel]

Hello all!
Perhaps the rest of you have other methods with making sense and coming to terms with your impending death - whether that be of your own hand or fate's. For me, however, I find great solace in art. Accordingly, I wanted to share a poem by John Dunne which touched me this morning:

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.​

If you are so inclined, feel free to share what helps you; maybe that's a piece of music, a memory - anything.

 

[MourningDove]

Hello all!
Perhaps the rest of you have other methods with making sense and coming to terms with your impending death - whether that be of your own hand or fate's. For me, however, I find great solace in art. Accordingly, I wanted to share a poem by John Dunne which touched me this morning:


If you are so inclined, feel free to share what helps you; maybe that's a piece of music, a memory - anything.

I related to this a lot, I feel as if the art that I partake in, whichever form I choose at a particular time, give's me a strong purpose/will to live. A good example would be my graffiti art, it's 100% therapeutic, although controversial. Having a reason to go outside at night, even if alone, it really can put your whole world in a different perspective.