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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=460012" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>D e a t h</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Well we don’t know do we? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">You asked me to write something<br>about it and I said, <br>I have nothing to say…<br>maybe that’s a better place to start.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So should we keep a curtained silence<br>about it? Stuff cottonwool in that wound<br>that never quite heals, once made? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Or run down the street, knocking bang bang at all the doors, <br>shouting tell me about death… and<br>before that stranger knocks at your own door<br>and the face is strangely familiar, as if<br>you’ve been expecting someone, but<br>weren’t sure what they’d look like…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">One thing is certain, in its breezy way: <br>you’ll be the one who knows least about it<br>when it happens; but hopefully<br>the one who knows most about it<br>after it’s happened…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We could be rather Irish about it, <br>say, it’s a crying pity you’ll be missing<br>the wake… but look at it this way, <br>the funeral won’t cost you a penny…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I’m told that the other day, <br>a friend of a friend said<br>whoopee I’m going on holiday…<br>I guess that would have made for<br>a rather merrier funeral</div><div style="margin:10px 0">as we say now, no dear not a funeral, <br>a celebration of her life…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">but there’s still that moment<br>of awful mediocrity, when<br>the coffin begins to move, and it’s half, <br>this is it, and half, we’re doing this<br>with discreet good taste, so<br>you don’t have to notice it… ha…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then, some like to know beforehand what<br>they hope just might be known, <br>visit comfy mediums to ask about<br>those loved ones who’ve just passed over, is it, dear? …</div><div style="margin:10px 0">they make it sound like a well-run care home: <br>it’s really very nice here, you’ll like it…<br>they sound as if they’re still wearing<br>the woollie that you knitted, and it’s tea cups chinking<br>and a chat about old times.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For the truly religious, of course, <br>it’s glory day, and so it should: <br>they’ve made the will, cleaned the house, <br>given away all that they’ve collected over the years, <br>said goodbyes; mopped all the tears; <br>the bags are packed and waiting in the hall, <br>their conscience clear. This is the moment<br>when what it’s all about, is what it’s all about..<br>envy them – their soul is clean, shriven was the old word for it, <br>their lifetime has been but a preparation, <br>a walk from one pure spring of grace<br>to a glorious river full of grace..</div><div style="margin:10px 0">so here’s a suggestion: in your mind, <br>bring together all you’ve loved in all your life –<br>teddy bear, dolls, kittens, puppies, horses, <br>maybe even parents… best friends, lovers, <br>strangers who were unexpectedly kind to you, <br>friends you hope you’ll never lose, <br>places that you were forever happy in, <br>times of happiness that you’ll never forget, <br>and those strange moments when<br>you knew you knew something just so great, <br>but didn’t know exactly what it was you knew…<br>those moments when time stood still, and<br>didn't seem to matter any more, because<br>the where and when that you were in, was forever..</div><div style="margin:10px 0">then add to this, all you’ve been, should be<br>grateful for; all the things you would have praised<br>more loudly; everyone, but everyone, you love; see<br>the world as full of wonders unexplained; <br>see glory everywhere, and yourself<br>the centre of all that…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">stay there.. then what is Death – apart<br>from what will surely be – compared<br>to all that glory which is your true self…<br>go on, admit it… me, I see it shine in you…<br>what shines in your eternally young eyes<br>is something that can never die…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Maybe we’ll talk of this some more, <br>now that we’ve tried to talk about it…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">you asked me; this is the best that I can do; <br>you asked me; this, with all my love, for you..</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>[A poem written by request]</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Michael+Shepherd">Michael Shepherd</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=460012" data-title="D e a t h de Michael Shepherd" data-description="Well we don’t know do we? 

You asked me to write something
about it and I said, 
I have nothing to say…
maybe that’s a better place to start.

So should we keep a curtained silence
about it? Stuff cottonwool in that wound
that never quite h..."></div>
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