More Windows Less Light
29/12/03 02:19![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eredienThis is an intensely personal writing; I've finally captured precognitive-dream-feeling-elusiveness in poem. If you think you know who I am talking about, you're probably wrong. I don't even know who I am talking about in this poem. Yet. I think.
More Windows Less Light
Not a good death
But a good dying
Was what they had,
this yet-nameless person
had a named disease
Cancer.
They were dying in a house filled with life
Eyes going dark in a house filled with light
White pine paneling
White sheets
They call me in
from the room with balloons and music
into the room with one window’s light
mostly silence
and the knowledge of death
They say something to me,
I cannot remember what:
It was something I always already knew and something I will know just before they say it
I know it now
But have forgotten
in
perhaps-
self-
preservation.
I smiled
and left
In the room with more windows
But somehow less light
the balloons bobbed softly
over the meat trays
And no one spoke of death
For speaking so much more of so much life.
More Windows Less Light
Not a good death
But a good dying
Was what they had,
this yet-nameless person
had a named disease
Cancer.
They were dying in a house filled with life
Eyes going dark in a house filled with light
White pine paneling
White sheets
They call me in
from the room with balloons and music
into the room with one window’s light
mostly silence
and the knowledge of death
They say something to me,
I cannot remember what:
It was something I always already knew and something I will know just before they say it
I know it now
But have forgotten
in
perhaps-
self-
preservation.
I smiled
and left
In the room with more windows
But somehow less light
the balloons bobbed softly
over the meat trays
And no one spoke of death
For speaking so much more of so much life.
