Thursday, July 10, 2008


I have this great love for what some may call "Depressing poetry." It all started with the music I loved growing up. In my opinion it is it's own form of poetry. I was always drawn to the meloncholy ones. But not for reasons others would think. It rarely make's me depressed. If anything, I feel comforted in knowing that others can say the things I can't... or that others have walked a similar road or perhaps are still walking it. Each having the ability to offer a piece of themselves through their sorrowful expressions... a piece of their unique understanding for the one who will read or listen to what they have to say.

This paticular poem truly pricks the heart of mine...because it is truly a lament. But I don't see it just as that...but as a person who loved someone so much that they are asking all the world to stop and offer reverance and attention to a person they so dearly loved...and lost. And to declare to anyone who will listen, that THAT person meant something to him or her. THAT person meant everything.


~W. H. Auden

"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,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good."