So Tired...
I haven't updated in a week, so please forgive my lack of commenting. I'm still working on my style. I wish I was good enough to just turn one out in a few hours. Bah. I'll never get better by kvetching.
mira_nevlome has pointed out that it is national poetry month. So in honor of that, I will post a random poem here and there, but just during this month, and always under a cut, so that you don't actually have to read it. The first will be a Dylan Thomas, probably his most well-known work, and definitely my favorite.
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.
In other news, tomorrow is the last day of school until next wednesday. What a well-needed break it shall be. I need sleep. Good night and have a pleasant tomorrow.
mira_nevlome has pointed out that it is national poetry month. So in honor of that, I will post a random poem here and there, but just during this month, and always under a cut, so that you don't actually have to read it. The first will be a Dylan Thomas, probably his most well-known work, and definitely my favorite.
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.
In other news, tomorrow is the last day of school until next wednesday. What a well-needed break it shall be. I need sleep. Good night and have a pleasant tomorrow.