A Poem by Mary Oliver
When Death Comes
When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
to buy me, and snaps his purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle pox;
when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,
and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,
and each name a comfortable music in the mouth
tending as all music does, toward silence,
and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.
When it’s over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was a bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened
or full of argument.
I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.
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After my mother died this summer, I found myself thinking, “Dylan Thomas really was off the mark, when he wrote that old age should rage against the dying of the light”.
But I couldn’t find anything that expressed my feelings about what I’d prefer for my own end. Mary Oliver’s poem does that rather well.
I absolutely love this poem. It speaks of life and death as it should be – an adventure. Going out one door and into another world.
Awesome poem! I love it !
I cannot thank you enough for the post.Much thanks again.