Blog Title

Life by George Herbert

I made a posy, while the day ran by: 

“Here will I smell my remnant out, and tie 

                           My life within this band.” 

But Time did beckon to the flowers, and they 

By noon most cunningly did steal away, 

                           And withered in my hand. 

My hand was next to them, and then my heart; 

I took, without more thinking, in good part 

                           Time’s gentle admonition; 

Who did so sweetly death’s sad taste convey, 

Making my mind to smell my fatal day, 

                           Yet, sug’ring the suspicion. 

Farewell dear flowers, sweetly your time ye spent, 

Fit, while ye lived, for smell or ornament, 

                           And after death for cures. 

I follow straight without complaints or grief, 

Since, if my scent be good, I care not if 

                           It be as short as yours.

I first read this poem from an old copy of Our Daily Bread back in high school and as most devastatingly beautiful poems about human limitations & mortality, this one stayed with me.

This poem was a remnant of the shadow of death following me when I rise early in the morning, a peripheral view of life's transience; this was the steady beating of a long-forgotten song which in vain I try to hum while standing beside someone else's death bed; and this was the longing for a validation of my life lived and not just of an existence wasted.

I badly want to start writing again with all the freedom I have to release the words without the hate, and to begin returning to point zero where once upon a time I proudly stood not regretting nor blaming others for all the choices I made.

I guess this is me growing up and this is me coming into terms with reality that just as much as I want to live, I also do not want to stop living after my death.

This is me writing my eulogy.

original post here