request and a poem

[theprohibition]

My mother was just diagnosed with Non-Hodgkins lymphoma and has not been given much time left to live.  Please, leave poetry about deaths and losing family members or even getting over it or anything that can make me feel better.  I can't imagine poetry failing me now.

In return:
Why A Man Cannot Have Wings - Alfian bin Sa'at
Because he will crash

Comments

[evilstorm]

I only have a song, but it's about watching a loved one die of cancer and it's written by the best lyricist I know, so I hope this is acceptable

here are 3 poems

[med_cat]

*Hugs*

http://med-cat.livejournal.com/420798.html

[moonglows]

There was a request similar to this a couple weeks ago: http://greatpoets.livejournal.com/3247637.html#comments

Sending good thoughts your way...

[moonglows]

Here's another thread you may find comforting:

http://greatpoets.livejournal.com/3249043.html#comments

John Donne, "Death be not proud"

[snarryfool]

A religious response, but one that I've found comforting even though I don't believe:

Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not soe,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill mee.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

[laurensa]

This comforted me when I lost my mom to cancer.

Death: Death Is Nothing At All
Death is nothing at all.
I have only slipped away to the next room.
I am I and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other,
That, we still are.
Call me by my old familiar name.
Speak to me in the easy way
which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed
at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me. Pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word
that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effect.
Without the trace of a shadow on it.
Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same that it ever was.
There is absolute unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind
because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you.
For an interval.
Somewhere. Very near.
Just around the corner.
All is well.
Henry Scott Holland ~ 1847-1918
Canon of St. Paul's Cathedral ~ London. UK