Deconstructed sonnet. After Elliott, Thomas et al...
Do not go gentle into that goodnight. But rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Or you can fade living on in quiet desperation
Measuring out your life not so much with coffee spoons as the midday show, Wheel of fortune and family fued
Blaring out alternately from each side of the decorating limbo that is the long, beige corridor.
Finally the awkward obligatory half hour visit. Where you jovially repeat nonessentials
and you feel the desperate urge to connect in a real way from the eyes.
A single tear travels down the cheek reflecting a rosebud of loss and regret.
No do not go gentle.
When its my time i will walk along the beach. Stand in the shallows with my skirt tucked in my undies.
Let the incoming breakers skittle cheerfully over the sand.
Until a big one gallops up and splashes me full on, so I have sand and salt water everywhere.
Sea foam in my hair.
I hear the mermaids singing each to each
So I will leave the beach and swim out to join them.
My recently dyed purple-red hair will fan out behind me like a unicorn's mane.
My seahorses and I
Will the kelp strand ply
With my own song.
My hair will tangle with the sirens as we wheel ecstatically down.
Looking up I see bubbles between me and the moon.
I will grab my memories in my fist and leap defiantly into the mouth of the Kraken.
They will not weep for me.
I forbid it with all of my fierce heart.
Do not go gentle
Go with a bang. Not a whimper...