Once there was a boy who gave a girl twelve roses. Eleven of them were real, one was plastic. Then he told her he will love her until the last one dies.
It was a promise he never took back.
But then one horrible day she died instead, and as her absence filled his world, he begged:
If tears could build a stairway,
and memories a lane,
I'd march right up to heaven
and bring you home again.
But no matter the depth of his grief, no such stairway ever appeared. As the years trickled by ever so painfully, on occasion he would wake up feeling fine.
Then he’d remember.
As the breaking wheel of time turned and his youth and hope fled him he went to her garden:
An old man kneeling all alone
Plants a plastic rose in a garden of stone
For seventy years now she's been gone
But his broken devotion is still going strong
She looked down and her heart was lost.
She whispered:
Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am diamond glints on snow.
I am sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awake and greet the dawn
I am the day as it is born
I am birds in circling flight
I am the soft starlight at night
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there.
I did not die.
He looked up with a lighter heart and sighed, “thank you”. After seventy years his loneliness finally fled him. He was no longer kneeling all alone. Her presence filled his world.
He retrieved her rose and renewed his promise.
0:00
-3:45
You asked me whose life was more important - yours or mine, and I answered 'mine'.
You walked away angry, not knowing that you are my life.
Ill sit and laugh with my friends at what we've all been through…
…but i still catch my breath when someone mentions you.
When tomorrow starts without me
And I’m not here to see
If the sun should rise and find your eyes
All filled with tears for me
When tomorrow starts with out me
Please try to understand
That an angel came and called my name
And took me by the hand
—David Romano
WH Auden Laments:
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
Michael Ashby Replies:
So polish up those stars
and fire up that old sun
And put out some warm slippers
To welcome my ole mum
And make a brand new galaxy
To light up in her name
Because life on planet Earth
Just won't ever be the same
(source)
Golden Moments
My life has been a mirage
Built on shifting sands
And now my time with liquid gold
Has flowed out from my hands
The precious seconds, minutes and hours
The priceless months and years
End in my new oasis
With welcoming forbears
—Michael Ashby, Sidmouth (source)
Auguries of Innocence
To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour
—William Blake
Now, and with no need of tears,
Here they leave me, full of years,—
Leave me to my quiet rest
In the region of the blest.
—Edwin Arlington Robinson
You're all on God's conveyor belt - You're heading for a fall - But heaven's got no gravity - I'm dancing above all
Work out what you want from life - And make your dreams come true - You could Watch stars rise on pyramids - Or set on Uluru
You could walk on China's greatest wall - Or trek to Timbuktu - You could aim upon the Eiffel tower - Or higher at Machu Picchu
You're all on God's conveyor belt - You're heading for a fall - But heaven's got no gravity - I'm dancing above all
Your music's singing in my soul - As I’m dancing up above - But beyond all I've said before - I hope you’ll just find love
—Michael Ashby, Sidmouth
I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on, as if in pain:
And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.
—Christina Rosetti
0:00
-3:54
The Ship (Submitted by Laurie)
What is dying
I am standing on the seashore, a ship sails in the morning breeze and starts for the ocean. She is an object of beauty and I stand watching her till at last she fades on the horizon and someone at my side says: "She is gone."
Gone!
Where
Gone from my sight that is all.
She is just as large in the masts, hull and spars as she was when I saw her, and just as able to bear her load of living freight to its destination. The diminished size and total loss of sight is in me, not in her, and just at the moment when someone at my side says,
"She is gone"
There are others who are watching her coming, and other voices take up a glad shout:
"There she comes!"
and that is dying.
—Bishop Brent
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