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Death XXVII

Then Almitra spoke, saying, "We would ask now of Death."

And he said:

You would know the secret of death.

But how shall you find it unless you seek it in the heart of life?

The owl whose night-bound eyes are blind unto the day cannot unveil the mystery of light.

If you would indeed behold the spirit of death, open your heart wide unto the body of life.

For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one.

In the depth of your hopes and desires lies your silent knowledge of the beyond;

And like seeds dreaming beneath the snow your heart dreams of spring.

Trust the dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity.

Your fear of death is but the trembling of the shepherd when he stands before the king whose hand is to be laid upon him in honour.

Is the shepherd not joyful beneath his trembling, that he shall wear the mark of the king?

Yet is he not more mindful of his trembling?

For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?

And what is to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?

Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.

And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.

And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.

poem by Khalil Gibran
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Related quotes

On Death

Then Almitra spoke, saying, 'We would ask now of Death.'
And he said:
You would know the secret of death.
But how shall you find it unless you seek it in the heart of life?
The owl whose night-bound eyes are blind unto the day cannot unveil the mystery of light.
If you would indeed behold the spirit of death, open your heart wide unto the body of life.
For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one.
In the depth of your hopes and desires lies your silent knowledge of the beyond;
And like seeds dreaming beneath the snow your heart dreams of spring.
Trust the dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity.
Your fear of death is but the trembling of the shepherd when he stands before the king whose hand is to be laid upon him in honour.
Is the shepherd not joyful beneath his trembling, that he shall wear the mark of the king?
Yet is he not more mindful of his trembling?
For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?
And what is to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?
Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.
And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.
And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.

poem by Khalil Gibran
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LIFE and DEATH

You would know the secret of death;
But how shall you find it unless you seek it in life?
The owl whose night eyes are blind to daylight,
Cannot unveil the mystery of light.

If you yearn to see the spirit of death,
Open your heart wide to the wonder of life.
For life and death are one, even as a river and sea are one.

In the depth of your hopes and desires lies your silent,
Knowledge of the great beyond;
And like seeds dreaming ‘neath the snow,
Your heart dreams of spring.

Trust your dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity.

Your fear of death is but the trembling subject,
Waiting to be honored by his king.
Is the subject not joyful beneath his trembling?
That he shall wear the mark of the king?
Yet is he not more mindful of his trembling?

For what is it to die but to stand naked,
In the wind and melt into the sun?
And what is it to cease breathing,
But to free the breath from restless tides,
That it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?

Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you sing?
And when you have reached the mountain top,
Then you shall begin to climb!
And when the earth claims your limbs,
Then shall you truly dance.

(Inspired by Kahlil Gibran)

ROTMS

poem by Ray Lucero
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For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?
And what is it to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?

Kahlil Gibran in The Prophet
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Two Wishes XI

In the silence of the night Death descended from God toward the earth. He hovered above a city and pierced the dwellings with his eyes. He say the spirits floating on wings of dreams, and the people who were surrendered to the Slumber.

When the moon fell below the horizon and the city became black, Death walked silently among the houses -- careful to touch nothing -- until he reached a palace. He entered through the bolted gates undisturbed, and stood by the rich man's bed; and as Death touched his forehead, the sleeper's eyes opened, showing great fright.

When he saw the specter, he summoned a voice mingled with fear and anger, and said, "God away, oh horrible dream; leave me, you dreadful ghost. Who are you? How did you enter this place? What do you want? Leave this place at once, for I am the lord of the house and will call my slaves and guards, and order them to kill you!"

Then Death spoke, softly but with smoldering thunder, "I am Death. Stand and bow!"

The man responded, "What do you want? What have you come here when I have not yet finished my affairs? What see you from strength such as mine? Go to the weak man, and take him away!

"I loathe the sight of your bloody paws and hollow face, and my eyes take sick at your horrible ribbed winds and cadaverous body."

After a moment of fearful realization he added, "No, No, oh merciful Death! Mind not talk, for even fear reveals what the heart forbids.

"Take a bushelful of my gold, or a handful of my slave's souls, but leave me. I have accounts with Life requiring settling; I have due from people much gold; my ships have not reached the harbor; my demand, but spare my life. Death, I own harems of supernatural beauty; your choice is my gift to you. Give heed, Death -- I have but one child, and I love him dearly for he is my only joy in this life. I offer supreme sacrifice -- take him, but spare me!"

Death murmured, "You are not rich, but pitifully poor." Then Death took the hand of that earthly slave, removed his reality, and gave to the angels the heavy task of correction.

And Death walked slowly amidst the dwellings of the poor until he reached the most miserable he could find. He entered and approached a bed upon which a youth slept fitfully. Death touched his eyes; the lad sprang up as he saw Death standing by, and, with a voice full of love and hope he said, "Here I am, my beautiful Death. Accept my soul, for you are the hope of my dreams. Be their accomplishment! Embrace me, oh beloved Death! You are merciful; do not leave me. You are God's messenger; deliver me to Him. You are the right hand of Truth and the heart of Kindness; do not neglect me.

"I have begged for you many times, but you did not come; I have sought you, but you avoided me; I called out to you, but you listened not. You hear me now -- embrace my soul, beloved Death!"

Death placed his softened hand upon the trembling lips, removed all reality, and enfolded it beneath his wings for secure conduct. And returning to the sky, Death looked back and whispered his warning:

"Only those return to Eternity
Who on earth seek out Eternity."

poem by Khalil Gibran
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Disingenuousness

Here lies another box for nature,
Carbon ready;
Black to eyes down here,
Where death is at its job.

Up there you’ll hear a rhythmic sob
Or two from living yet-to-dies –
A humming lacrimoso –
It all but cleans the eyes:

Forget it –
The dismal show of grief –
Life is only chemistry –
Our stay is only brief.
It’s we who hype it up!

Diaphragms jerk again;
The jet monotone of hearses
Feeds the disingenuousness
Of undertakers –
They seem to stare at something up ahead –
For them, it’s in the blood,
To taxi off the dead.

The March of Death

Death death death death death death death death death death death

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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It's Death Again

It's Death again - He's always there -
Watching, waiting - e'er the stare!
Every time I look behind
Or reach to pull the window blind,
I catch a glimpse of grubby hood -
A little clue to where he stood;
The glint of light that caught the scythe.
Perhaps if I could pay a tithe…
But O! no use, he'll never go.
The adamant phantom; don't you know
He will but wait until it's time
For me to hear His fateful chime? -
The toll that claims my destiny,
To Hail: 'You're next, it has to be…'

The Reign of Death

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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A Fresh Endeavour

So now I've taken leave of life,
I thought you'd like to know, I still
Possess a mind in love, oh wife;
A soulful eye to catch a show of
Silent beauty – ever yours;
An ear to pick the metaphors
Of tonal dance in words you say,
Grasp a thought in verse you pray
Inside your head, bemused of mind,
Softly mournful, intertwined with
Understanding tears.

I'll drift a whisper o'er to you
To tell that I am quietly calm;
Keeping time till your adieu
To flesh, upon the carol of a
Psalm of consummation. Now!
A fresh endeavour – we're forever
One together, resting yonder,
Cross our open plane of blue.

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Death, Inevitable Death

Death, inevitable Death.
So now You come to show Your world,
Hence the blackened cloak – unfurled.
And peering down upon my form
– Bereft of pity – Your eyes of storm.

Death, inexorable Death.
‘When? ’ The only question out of Thee.
My dream retorts 'But ne’er for me! ’
But now awake, I bid you so –
My giving tears cry ‘Where to go? ’

Death, adamant Death.
You cast Your spell and guide me 'way,
For life and I have had our day.
And what of me? I prey You, tell!
Be glorious in Heaven or gnarled in Hell?

Death, ineluctable Death.
Oh wiry ghoul, I'm here to follow –
I leave my body grey and shallow.
‘Come! ’ You bid in thund’ring tones,
‘Beg farewell to shattered bones.’

Death
Death death
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Death

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Death and I

When death comes
I’ll need not love –
Consumed,
No wreath or dove
Could offer me salvation,
Not when I’m no more.

A weathered stone will bear my name –
Identity of once a being
Living out existence in
A world of risk, and never seeing
Sense of why we’re here.

My genes will die away thro’ child –
Hue of eyes and hair, the way of thought,
Will quickly dim with generation –
Bow to future dominance –
Memories of provenance
Resigned to curious few.

When death comes
I’ll need not grace
Below; no grieving face
Will call my resurrection,
Not when I’m at ground –

Death and I so bound.

D eath Crawl

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Death’s Too Near

Death, you’re standing rather near!
Don’t you understand the fear
You trigger deep within my soul–?
The terror sprung by such a ghoul
Of dark and hideous hue!

Now you’re rattling on my door!
I’m sure I threw you out before –
Methinks you really need to learn!
So leg it please and ne’er return
To haunt me ‘gain, now shoo!

Gain a sense of social pride, and
Keep your bearing far and wide –
Perform the deed when I am done –
Be free and loose to have your fun
When I’m too frail to turn and run,
But now I’ve living to do!

Death, death, nearing death, death, death nearing death
Death, death, nearing death, death, death nearing death
Death, death, nearing death, death, death nearing death
Death, death, nearing death, death
Death, death, nearing death
Death, death, death
Death, death
Death
Death, death
Death

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Death, My Friend

Death, my friend - so good to see you!
Stand aloft and view my soul!
I have to say you’re looking frightful -
Bony chum, you affable ghoul.

Death, my friend, so charmed I’m sure!
State your case and tell me straight -
Am I worthy of reward, so
Venture I to Heaven’s Gate?

Death, my friend, a new acquaintance!
You're always welcome in my home -
Though the stare from empty sockets
Indicates to Hell we roam!

Death, my friend - my bosom buddy.
My! your finger points at me!
Be you tired of my frivolity?
Aha, I see - Oblivion, we!

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Beauty XXV

And a poet said, "Speak to us of Beauty."

Where shall you seek beauty, and how shall you find her unless she herself be your way and your guide?

And how shall you speak of her except she be the weaver of your speech?

The aggrieved and the injured say, "Beauty is kind and gentle.

Like a young mother half-shy of her own glory she walks among us."

And the passionate say, "Nay, beauty is a thing of might and dread.

Like the tempest she shakes the earth beneath us and the sky above us."

The tired and the weary say, "beauty is of soft whisperings. She speaks in our spirit.

Her voice yields to our silences like a faint light that quivers in fear of the shadow."

But the restless say, "We have heard her shouting among the mountains,

And with her cries came the sound of hoofs, and the beating of wings and the roaring of lions."

At night the watchmen of the city say, "Beauty shall rise with the dawn from the east."

And at noontide the toilers and the wayfarers say, "we have seen her leaning over the earth from the windows of the sunset."

In winter say the snow-bound, "She shall come with the spring leaping upon the hills."

And in the summer heat the reapers say, "We have seen her dancing with the autumn leaves, and we saw a drift of snow in her hair."

All these things have you said of beauty.

Yet in truth you spoke not of her but of needs unsatisfied,

And beauty is not a need but an ecstasy.

It is not a mouth thirsting nor an empty hand stretched forth,

But rather a heart enflamed and a soul enchanted.

It is not the image you would see nor the song you would hear,

But rather an image you see though you close your eyes and a song you hear though you shut your ears.

It is not the sap within the furrowed bark, nor a wing attached to a claw,

But rather a garden forever in bloom and a flock of angels for ever in flight.

People of Orphalese, beauty is life when life unveils her holy face.

But you are life and you are the veil.

Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror.

But you are eternity and you are the mirror.

poem by Khalil Gibran
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Death won't come..

Death is what I crave as I am no good at anything…

Death is what I want as I am such a horrible person…

Death is what I deserve as I ask questions to what peaks my interest…

Death is what I should have because my head spins with total bewilderment of what has been said to me…

Death is what I seek as I make so many people lives miserable..

Death is what should happen as I am not who people want me to be..

Why won’t death come to me, I am not worthy of life…

Please sweet death, seek me out…. I cannot continue life, as I know it…

I beg of you death, come and seek me out, where are you death…?

Where are you?

poem by Darla Olsen
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Prayer Answered by Crosses

I ask'd the Lord, that I might grow
In faith, and love, and ev'ry grace,
Might more of his salvation know,
And seek more earnestly his face.

'Twas he who taught me thus to pray,
And he, I trust has answer'd pray'r;
But it has been in such a way,
As almost drove me to despair.

I hop'd that in some favour'd hour,
At once he'd answer my request:
And by his love's constraining pow'r,
Subdue my sins, and give me rest.

Instead of this. he made me feel
The hidden evils of my heart;
And let the angry pow'rs of hell
Assault my soul in ev'ry part.

Yea more, with his own hand he seem'd
Intent to aggravate my woe;
Cross'd all the fair designs I schem'd,
Blasted my gourds, and laid me low.

Lord, why is this, I trembling cry'd,
Wilt thou pursue thy worm to death?
"'Tis in this way," the Lord reply'd,
"I answer pray'r for grace and faith.

"These inward trials I employ,
"From self and pride to set thee free;
"And break thy schemes of earthly joy,
"That thou mayst seek thy all in me."

poem by John Newton
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The Hamadryad.

Last night I was like one who prayed
Beneath a mystic tree
Whose windless leaves a murmur made,
As if it there might be
A spirit in the sap that laid
Its spell on them and me.
A creature who, invisible,
In sorrow and in mirth,
Through summer's heat or when the chill
Is on the dreaming Earth,
Sings as in sleep divinely still
The secret of its birth.
(And as it sings, possessed, apart
From all things far and near,
The music of its own strange heart
Is all it seems to hear,
As if its ardour made an art
Of its own atmosphere.
Still none who come there hear the song
Until their souls are bowed
Beneath the mystic boughs, among
Whose living leaves a crowd
Of spirit voices, weak and strong,
Sing all that God allowed).
Oh! wondrous was that faery strain,
Too holy to be heard
But by the soul with no profane
Imagination stirr'd —
Like a seer when his heart and brain
Are in the coming word,
And he bows low before the breath
Of that which, as a flame,
All that he is illumineth
And calls him as by name,
When one to him are Life and Death,
One honour and one shame.
Ah! so possessed I heard them sing,
The many voices who
Were the sense of a secret thing
That with the tree-life grew,
As it did from the same seed spring
And a dream-breath from it drew —
The mystic life which God had shut
Within the dark seed's core,
Diverse from all that He had put
In others evermore —
No hint of death behind it, but
Of life that is before!
The tree-life in more lives than this —
Of that it sings for aye —
And as I listened the world's hiss
In silence died away,
And the perfect life for all that is
Like a dream on me lay.

poem by Robert Crawford
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Raffles of Life

death fear and tremble every heart, a final
destination of every soul, of no where to
believe that death is not an exemption of
life but life after this life, it’s the end of
every beginning, nor the fate to
accept that it’s the final
happiness that man
has long waited for
in life
you don’t need to live because you want to die,
though, you have to die in order to live, the
meaning catches many stream in the
river and sea, every thing will be
happy, you may not find but you
may seek it, for in the end the
paradise is waiting
even the clouds have something to say
the night has been envying the day
the stones rushing the shore
to be seen, for in every
birds, there is feather
that flees
so why all have got there shared to be
raffle in life, the air breath has but
nothing to see, though the eyes
close vividly can feel, the
beauty of death, the
Prophets and
Messenger
always
shout
for
thee
as life comes and it may go, the raffles. seems
so easy when you’re Free.......

poem by Antonio Liao
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The Alpine Hunter

Wilt thou not the lambkins guard?
Oh, how soft and meek they look,
Feeding on the grassy sward,
Sporting round the silvery brook!
"Mother, mother, let me go
On yon heights to chase the roe!"

Wilt thou not the flock compel
With the horn's inspiring notes?
Sweet the echo of yon bell,
As across the wood it floats!
"Mother, mother, let me go
On yon heights to hunt the roe!"

Wilt thou not the flow'rets bind,
Smiling gently in their bed?
For no garden thou wilt find
On yon heights so wild and dread.
"Leave the flow'rets,--let them blow!
Mother, mother, let me go!"

And the youth then sought the chase,
Onward pressed with headlong speed
To the mountain's gloomiest place,--
Naught his progress could impede;
And before him, like the wind,
Swiftly flies the trembling hind!

Up the naked precipice
Clambers she, with footsteps light,
O'er the chasm's dark abyss
Leaps with spring of daring might;
But behind, unweariedly,
With his death-bow follows he.

Now upon the rugged top
Stands she,--on the loftiest height,
Where the cliffs abruptly stop,
And the path is lost to sight.
There she views the steeps below,--
Close behind, her mortal foe.

She, with silent, woeful gaze,
Seeks the cruel boy to move;
But, alas! in vain she prays--
To the string he fits the groove.
When from out the clefts, behold!
Steps the Mountain Genius old.

With his hand the Deity
Shields the beast that trembling sighs;
"Must thou, even up to me,
Death and anguish send?" he cries,--
Earth has room for all to dwell,--
"Why pursue my loved gazelle?"

poem by Friedrich Schiller
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Dance with Death

Consecrated cold earth
There is no dignity
Sworn to die from birth
Here to lie for eternity

So is there glory in death
Never again to feel warm
Or see the light of day
Is death the prize for life

I’ve got the stench of death
On my hands
I just buried a friend
Dance with Death

I saved his life
To put him in the ground
Such a high price
Can’t break the chains, I’m bound

I have a fire inside me
Feels like I’m from hell
What else could it be
Death has me in its spell

I have to say good bye
It would be much better
But I keep seeing his eyes
I know I’ll see them forever

I’ve gotta let him go
I need to end the pain
But I don’t know how
Seems I’m caught in this game

I have the stench of death
On my hands
I just buried a friend
Dance with Death

I’m in that dance
The waltz of endings
The horrid trance
Of new beginnings
I’ve got a dance with death
Swing to his song
Take your last breath
It won’t be long

You’ve gotta move to the beat

Dance with death

Play his song for me

Dance with death

poem by Haley Revell
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The Last Word

Before the April night was late
A rider came to the castle gate;
A rider breathing human breath,
But the words he spoke were the words of Death.

'Greet you well from the King our lord,
He marches hot for the eastward ford;
Living or dying, all or one,
Ye must keep the ford till the race be run.

Sir Alain rose with lips that smiled,
He kissed his wife, he kissed his child:
Before the April night was late
Sir Alain rode from the castle gate.

He called his men-at-arms by name,
But one there was uncalled that came:
He bade his troop behind him ride,
But there was one that rode beside.

'Why will you spur so fast to die?
Be wiser ere the night go by.
A message late is a message lost;
For all your haste the foe had crossed.

'Are men such small unmeaning things
To strew the board of smiling Kings?
With life and death they play their game,
And life or death, the end's the same.'

Softly the April air above
Rustled the woodland homes of love:
Softly the April air below
Carried the dream of buds that blow.

'Is he that bears a warrior's fame
To shun the pointless stroke of shame?
Will he that propped a trembling throne
Not stand for right when right's his own?

'Your oath on the four gospels sworn?
What oath can bind resolves unborn?
You lose that far eternal life?
Is it yours to lose? Is it child and wife?

But now beyond the pathway's bend,
Sir Alain saw the forest end,
And winding wide beneath the hill,
The glassy river lone and still.

And now he saw with lifted eyes
The East like a great chancel rise,
And deep through all his senses drawn,
Received the sacred wine of dawn.

He set his face to the stream below,
He drew his axe from the saddle bow:
'Farewell, Messire, the night is sped;
There lies the ford, when all is said'

poem by Sir Henry Newbolt
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Punishment

There never really was a place of sanctity
For you, the mortal entity.
You thought you had prosperity,
The while you thrived and were.

Angels don't exist, you see.
You lived without a guarantee
Atop your brutal Earth.
Still, you had a birth.

And whither now, your crying whim -?
Answered by a tearing limb-?
Are you contrite; your valour slim?

And will He care...?

'Tis down to Him.

Death has come, has death Death has come, has death
Death has come, has death Death has come, has death
Death has come, has death Death has come, has death
Death has come, has death Death has come, has death
Death has come, has death Death has come, has death
Death has come, has death Death has come, has death

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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En.Citatepedia®.ro

Death XXVII

Related quotes

On Death

LIFE and DEATH

Two Wishes XI

Disingenuousness

It's Death Again

A Fresh Endeavour

Death, Inevitable Death

Death and I

Death’s Too Near

Death, My Friend

Beauty XXV

Death won't come..

Prayer Answered by Crosses

The Hamadryad.

Raffles of Life

The Alpine Hunter

Dance with Death

The Last Word

Punishment

En.Citatepedia^®.ro