I would know you in complete darkness By the way you draw breath And your feet strike the earth.
I would recognise you in insanity, All other faces wiped from my memory I could know you even in madness.
I would know your face masked, In disguise, in shadow I could know you by touch alone.
I could find you in another lifetime, Another universe, In different bodies, in different times.
I would know you at the end of the world, Were the stars collapsing and our elements fading I would know you even in death.
And I would love you through all of this.
[For any Madeline Miller fans, I just had to borrow some lines from my namesake ;)]
He’d promised to help her Reunite with her Pan When she severed their love In that desolate land
Their adventures together Had been trying and bleak But she was unstoppable When the dead she did seek
So down to the depths No chance to turn back Even waiting for death No courage they lacked
Two young survivors Their hearts ripped apart Left their daemons behind To sail into the dark
But Will made a promise As Lyra’s soul cried That they would return That this wasn’t goodbye
So lost in the fog Alone in the deep He was bound by a promise Only he could keep.
(Apologies for the niche fan-fic, but this theme fitted so well with the Northern Lights trilogy!)
I shall remember your suffering Benjamin Pointer. I never saw your face But I heard your Suffering. I heard the running feet. The wheels of the Cardiac monitor The urgency. I went to a room and cried Ten minutes before You died. I felt very small. The frustration Of the staff nurse Returning to the ward. The casual remarks That you had died. I remember your death.
(This poem was written by my mum on her first hospital shift in 1980; I cannot take credit for it, but she wanted it shared :D)
I used to be so afraid of this place.
The ghostly trunks of the Japanese Birch, shimmering in the sun like holograms trying to deceive me. These angels of death standing straight up from the earth, their too-pale bodies scarred sporadically with dark, jagged rings.
Their skeletal limbs, far above in the sky, harbouring serrated leaves that drop in silence and utter no sound under foot. The softness of the lush canopy lost out of sight atop a cloud of eery silence.
Their bark and branches too light to be real, as if the ground had sapped all their life and strength away, leaving this bleached and desolate army standing naked and apart.
And in the autumn when their heads would turn to fire, like matches lit aflame; the terrifying juxtaposition of their pasty trunks against the blaze of crumbling leaves. Their crunching under winter boots was crisp and clear and creepy, but worse that it left the trunks exposed; stripped, spindly corpses.
But what I would give for that spectral forest to return, and replace the decimation that it’s deforestation left instead...
No holy water could free me, From this demon that haunts my mind He sticks with me past sun and moon No reverie I can hope to find.
His tendrils curling through my brain, To remind me of what I’ve done He blackens all that my life once was And curses each ray of sun.
Sometimes I’ll forget he’s there And life can feel normal again But I’ll feel him creeping steadily in Ready to remind me of the pain.
On lonely nights he grasps my thoughts And twists along every nerve But even as I repent, I know That this is all that I deserve.
This torment I cannot escape, But I cannot let him win, To break this hold Guilt has on me, I must confess my sins.
The space between stars is how you felt before you were born. Do you remember it?
It was a vast emptiness of nothing, There was no light or dark, No happy or sad. You didn’t feel alone or scared, but nor were you excited or anxious.
You had no conscience to make thoughts, to appreciate or to fear, No memories or emotions, but it wasn’t desolate or bleak.
This is how the space between stars feels. It’s everything you felt before you were born, and it’s how you’ll feel after you die.
It is nothing.
The monitor flatlined, and for a few moments everyone fell silent.
Although I knew this was coming, I couldn’t help the flood of relief and joy that burned through my veins.
Excitement like strong liquor scorching my throat and dizzying my veins.
I wanted to scream; I wanted to drop to my knees and praise every Lord in the skies.
But the sobbing couple just meters away from me kept me from my exaltation.
As they gently mourned the passing of their beautiful young daughter, I kept my delight stashed down deep. I’m sure no one would have blamed me for rapturous exuberance, but I still knew the respectful and kind way to behave.
Her parents didn’t need my condolences, they knew what this meant for me. Returning a small nod and hopeful smile from her mother, I waved goodbye and hurried towards the double doors.
I sprinted out of that ward like I was setting a world record; tears flowing hot and fast, splashing on my weak arms like holy water anointing me a new life.
The absolute buzz I got from that little girl’s death might seem horrendous to you, and I know deep down how I should have felt. But when her poor little heart was transplanted into my own dying daughter, there were no words in the world that could have quelled my joy.
You won’t find Her in the thunder, or in the foaming of a violent sea, You won’t see Her in the hurricanes, or the aftermath’s debris.
You won’t hear Her in the howling winds, or the creeking of a breaking branch, You won’t notice Her in the driving hail, or in the drumming of an avalanche.
You’ll sense Her building slowly, creeping like darkening clouds, Like the anxious, humid, coming storm, Her skies are a dense grey shroud.
You’ll feel Her cross you like a gentle breeze, and you’ll shiver in the growing cold, She’ll grasp you when you least expect, but you’ll ignore Her controlling hold.
You’ll meet Her in your anxious thoughts, small drops that feed the flood, But unlike the sharp crash of a tsunami She’s a constant, ominous thud.
She’s not the raging roaring storm, which makes you fear and shout, She’s the slyly slinking deluge of subtle, stirring Doubt.
