Damocles' Web

A poem in response to some annoying quotes I heard from people about those who live afraid of dying.

Damocles’ Web

Let me be the song afraid of silence, and the dance

Afraid of still. Let me breathe afraid of drowning,

And dream in fear of sunlight columns, that at every chance,

Pry open these sleeping lids, and whisper in these doubting

Ears, lyrics of indulgence. Let me crown the sleeping king,

Whose head hangs beneath Damocles wintering web,

And thread these fingers along the resting curls. “Bring

Me the bloodied dagger, so I may wipe my hands, on this step,

With the painted red, that erodes the mountains in a current of tears.”

Let the wind howl in reply to the Moon’s sighs, and let the stars crawl

Along the ebony wood, like teetering ants, in an aimless ponder. Let years

Turn away at the cool touch of Time, and let this boisterous brawl

Between the jaded and the lost, consume all and break the gears

Of Fate, which tangles and strangles the human in me, as I stop breathing,

Let me find in fear of losing, feel in fear of aching, I whisper for my fears

Are long and fantastical, yet this I hold to truth, I want to live afraid of dying.

Author's Note

Another poem from elementary days, in response to some detestable contortions of fear.