The Art of Dying
This is the last day of a dying man
his bent lines are sketched as thousands of stars
So go on sir, live! as fast as you can
Regret has been a plague since time began
rubbed shadows in the lines of an old face
This is the last day of a dying man
Memories will linger for the miles you ran
But every water colour fades in time
So go on sir, live! as fast as you can
What? in your mind of fate and divine plan
aged eyes are grey and the flesh is gold
This is the last day of a dying man
Youth disappeared in a sky of cyan
Paintings you mumble of a better time
So go on sir, live! as fast as you can
God bequeath breath just as paint from Gauguin
Where oil kisses the canvas it will bleed
This is the last day of a dying man
So go on now, live! as well as you can
his bent lines are sketched as thousands of stars
So go on sir, live! as fast as you can
Regret has been a plague since time began
rubbed shadows in the lines of an old face
This is the last day of a dying man
Memories will linger for the miles you ran
But every water colour fades in time
So go on sir, live! as fast as you can
What? in your mind of fate and divine plan
aged eyes are grey and the flesh is gold
This is the last day of a dying man
Youth disappeared in a sky of cyan
Paintings you mumble of a better time
So go on sir, live! as fast as you can
God bequeath breath just as paint from Gauguin
Where oil kisses the canvas it will bleed
This is the last day of a dying man
So go on now, live! as well as you can
♠ ♠ ♠
not my favourite poem I've ever written, but my first ever attempt at the strict villanelle form... which is really hard. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Villanelle)I had had the idea to metaphorically attempt to link death and the visual arts via poetry based on the scene in the film of What Dreams May Come (one of my all-time favourite films. It never ceases to movie me.) where the wife creates an additional panel to a painting and then immediately destroys it.