Paschal moon: they shall not break

My friend David and I never discussed poetry—he left a comment on the post a few years ago on Carl Sandburg’s “Shovel Them Under”, and I have a vague recollection of some social media post he made that he labeled as a poem, but consisted of repeating the word god about 30 times. So I know he did read the stuff, but I don’t know how much it appealed to him.

I do know that he did not believe in the immortality of the soul, so he’d probably wave off my National Poetry Month entry for today, but it’s my choice to let Dylan Thomas give me a modicum of comfort when I think of my loss.

“And Death Shall Have No Dominion”

And death shall have no dominion.
Dead man naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan't crack;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Though they be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion.