Bless Me Now With Your Fierce Tears

Goddamn, I loves me some Dylan Thomas. This poem is one that's been on my mind lately for, I'd think, obvious reasons. The backstory here is that it was written to the poet's dying father – a man as vigorous as Thomas in his prime but brought low by illness and infirmity. This, then, is hardcore shit. There's weakness here and vulnerability and – because of that – strength beyond measure.

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.

-Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night by Dylan Thomas

I look at that and realize I'm never going to write anything half as well. But so good is it that it makes me want to keep trying.