Silence echoes throughout the room
And Dylan Thomas whispers in my ear
“Rage, rage against the dying of the light”
Poets and warriors, long since dead, call to me
While afternoon shadows dance on bare walls
Announcing dusk, too soon, too soon.
The light moves on, leaving darkness behind
The walls clinging to the last rays of warm light
Like a frightened child holding onto her father’s hand
Holding onto strength before condemned to stand alone
The walls grab for the light and cry out in anguish
And I sit paralyzed by truth and pain.
Dylan Thomas screams in my ear “What do you hunger for?”
“You’re rage lives there, starved into submission”
Fragile and weak, bludgeoned nearly to death
I look up and feel the darkness envelope me in its inevitability
My hand lets go and the truth is lost in my own blindness
Unable to find my rage I accept the darkness–and die a little.
