Dying Note

 Dying Note

Slow wave and beat
Its given tears of melody
Listening near,
Now I’ve fallen in
The dying note takes me with it

A quiet leave
Consumed whole by its own grief
And we are in the dark,
Where whispers bleed
The heart, the sight–all memory

From light without a plea
Strained along by the echo’s breeze
As we dissolve cold,
One deep inbreathe
At end, in frozen reach

This weak poem was where I left off back in March. The poem was written before I made the image, which is inverted from it’s original.

I seriously thought about it yesterday and said if I’m not writing something, or even attempting to write, even when I’m fresh out of ideas, I should not bother anymore. Nothing else I do is going to keep me here. There’s enough anger over it now, after three months of putting it off my list of priorities, to write in between every empty moment. There are a lot of empty moments now. And there’s always something to say.

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1 Comment

Filed under Art, Death, pain, poems, poetry, Thoughts

One response to “Dying Note

  1. Empty moments. I certainly understand where you are coming from on this. It seems like all there is anymore are distractions, these little bits of salvation that you have to keep close to you and accumulate to make yourself feel like there is just enough to force you to continue to breathe. Writing it out is probably the best thing you can do, really.

    This is going to sound strange, but sometimes I feel as though I’ve fallen in love with death, or at least become incredibly obsessed with it. It seems that all that I do has started to revolve around that idea. If I have a bad day, there it is for comfort if I should wish to have it. It’s unhealthy to say the least, but I guess weird things can be what get you through. There’s always an end, or even, dare I say it, a new beginning if you decide to turn away from all the ghosts and shadows for something else.

    You called it Dying Note, but I almost interpret it as ‘living note’ because of the last line. Always reaching to get at that answer—that note—and even in death not being able to possess it/hear it. I guess it goes both ways though; reaching for death or life. It seems like most of the time I will have neither, and whichever you select, both must be waited for no matter how much you give chase. You have to be convinced of death or convinced of life, and I no longer believe such things can be forced. It happens when it happens, or it never does. Some of us may always be inbetween striving for one side or the other, or simply floating along, unsure.

    This is a bit darker than I intended, but I know you’ll catch my meaning.

    P.S. The change in colors almost makes it a different painting from the blue version I remember seeing.

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