Romans & histoires Do Not Go Gentle Into The Night

My life's a feat though I've tasted defeat. I have fought so true as my heart beats. Go away memory, go away, go away! Leave with my soul as my body falls in the hay. Let there be strown on my lonely grave. Honor me as a friend, a warrior so brave. Tis, my last words shall be brought forth. As the deadly solstice forest embraces my fate. Remember me. Remember me, with or without grace...

“They are your feelings and you are entitled to them. My dad reminds me that it’s okay to not be okay. But it’s not okay to give up. Life sucks from time to time. We’re talking sucks worse than a dollar blow job.” She rubbed her belly again as the teens laughed. “But the sun comes out again. Little miracles happen. Dreams change and come true. You change. Life changes. You have to go through the darkness to see a sunrise.” “Do not go gentle into the dark night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” Rachel Woodson, her one goth student, quoted. “Love me some Dylan Thomas.” Evie smiled as her alarm dinged. “I have agreed to stay after today if anyone wants to stay also. If you need to ta

Funeral Blues Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone, Silence the pianos and with muffled drum Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come. Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead Scribbling on the sky the message ‘He is Dead’. Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves, Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. He was my North, my South, my East and West,

I simply let the evening be what it is: not a cage with comfortable bars, not a transaction with a generous settlement, not borrowed time before the next bill arrives. Just this. Just us. Just the firefly rising into the warm dark, pulsing its small faithful light — and all of us, together, watching it go. THE END

* Burn me, gently gently If I were to die tomorrow, If you woke up to my body, stiff, lifeless, And you knew that the days will never see my smile again, Burn me, gently gently. Do not bury me, Don't dig six feet to lay my restless spirit to rest, For the wild was in me, and it cannot be tamed by a pile of dirt, Do not excavate the opaque evenness of Mother Earth to deposit me, for I am neither golden nor leaden, neither metallic nor silvern, Sitting with patience waiting to be discovered. Burn me, gently gently,

I storm out Why won't anyone believe me, I have a real life vampires blood Arrg! after everything I went through, still just insults I did my study on those creatures for years, and I can still remember some of my favourite poetry and poems I read as a kid A Last Word by Ernest Dowson Let us go hence: the night is now at hand; The day is overworn, the birds all flown; And we have reaped the crops the gods have sown; Despair and death; deep darkness o'er the land,

I feel terribly whole tonight because of the nightrain & the proud No Fireworks sign out there on the street. I feel terribly dangerous I could let my right hand arm- wrestle the left hand of the clock before midnight smokes up an illusion of the forgotten ledbetters & faux romantics. I could smash bricks w/ my silence & then screw & shout ‘till my bones crow to ask: do you remember your neighbor’s rabbit that fell in love w/ the rooster because it’s the Year of the Rabbit?

--- Leya's Room – That Night She did not light the candle. She sat there in blackness, posture rigid, face vacant. The insult was on her skin like perfume — pleasant at a distance, rancid close up. She pulled out from beneath her floorboard the notebook. Her quill scratched out a pitiful three lines: > They shame what they fear. ----- > They test what they know cannot break. ----- > Tomorrow, I respond. ----- Then she sits it. Not vanquished. But at last. Because they had hurled fire.

“—from her.” Dante’s blood goes cold. He takes the phone. Hits play. The room disappears. It’s just her voice. Not the polished one the world is used to. Raw. Close. Breathing audible between lines. A guitar that buzzes a little on one fret. Words that hit like punches. *I signed my name in bedlight ink didn’t see the claws in the fine‑print links they said it was a lifeline, not a leash but I learned the difference on my knees…*

“I can’t believe this... how perfect it all is. All right. I’ll call you tomorrow. To unlock my phone, press 5498. Can you remember that?” She nodded. Were those footsteps on the stairs? “All right--now for the thousandth time, you have to go! Goodnight!” “A thousand times, maybe, but a thousand seconds without you is an eternity, Ella.” “I’ll be speaking your name until I’m hoarse until I see you again. But you have to go.” “Your name is like music in my ear, sweet Ella.” He touched her hand gently and then dropped down to the roof below, hardly making a noise.