03-06-2011, 07:52 AM
"It is not to be thought that the life of darkness is sunk in misery and lost as if in sorrowing. There is no sorrowing. For sorrow is a thing that is swallowed up in death, and death and dying are the very life of the darkness." - Jacob Boehme
There is no woodland, just stillness,
no weeping shrubs with sunken eyes,
or outstretched limbs from haunted trees,
which subtly betray human minds.
Only stillness. Stillness like a gutted car,
rusting in the grey moonlight,
stillness like a gnome in an empty garden,
paint peeling like flesh might.
The landscapes that Dante proposed,
the levels, lakes and lilies of hell,
are a farce for those still drawing breath,
slander most merry and comfortable.
Death as I see it is an endless road,
bordered by flatlands devoid of features,
beginning, leading and ending nowhere,
indifferent the faces of its travellers.
There is no woodland, just stillness,
no weeping shrubs with sunken eyes,
or outstretched limbs from haunted trees,
which subtly betray human minds.
Only stillness. Stillness like a gutted car,
rusting in the grey moonlight,
stillness like a gnome in an empty garden,
paint peeling like flesh might.
The landscapes that Dante proposed,
the levels, lakes and lilies of hell,
are a farce for those still drawing breath,
slander most merry and comfortable.
Death as I see it is an endless road,
bordered by flatlands devoid of features,
beginning, leading and ending nowhere,
indifferent the faces of its travellers.
"We believe that we invent symbols. The truth is that they invent us; we are their creatures, shaped by their hard, defining edges." - Gene Wolfe