- We are scientists, too!
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.-Dylan Thomas
Silver rose clouds
struggle with blue
to remain steadfast
against the blanket
of descending darkness.
Moist vapor hovers
in the warm air
heavy and fragrant
tasting the scents
like oily spirits.
Warm and unburdened
pushed and pulled
by playful winds
the jester pits
Spring against Winter.
Daylight reluctantly fuses
with falling darkness
caught in between
like an antelope
in a lion's paws.
Into the darkness
that gentle night
before sunlight again
regains its domain
that awakens all.
The warm darkness
slithering and whispering
Ride with me.
I give you
life and freedom.
City lights twinkle
like glittering snowflakes
in the dark blanket
on the horizon
of fading light.
The warm night
beckons me forward
to ride wings
on dark ribbons
and liquid lines.
I fear not
that gentle night
I sing both
light and blackness
while in flight.
I won't rage
against the dying
of the light
when I go
gently into
that good night.
Labels: musings
