Death, be not proud, though some have called thee/ Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so ;/ For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,/ Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me./ From rest and sleep, which but thy picture[s] be,/ Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow,/ And soonest our best men with thee do go,/ Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery./ Thou'rt slave to Fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,/ And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,/ And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,/ And better than thy stroke ; why swell'st thou then ?/ One short sleep past, we wake eternally,/ And Death shall be no more ; Death, thou shalt die.
~Holy Sonnet X, John Donne

Monday, April 18, 2011

common experience.

Once upon a time, there was a girl. This girl, though we might find her strange, looked exactly as she should have in her world. She lived in a dark place, with a single spotlight, but somedays it was so dim she couldn’t see it, no matter how hard she tried. This lack of vitamin D caused her ankles to be bony, her skin to be corpse-gray, and her kneecaps never to have blood in them. As she got older, as happened with many of her peers, she began to grow. However (& this is what we might find strange), her bones were the only things that grew. Not the cartilage on the bones, not the skin surrounding it, not the muscles that helped her move. The tendons were able to stretch for a short while, but even that gave out eventually. Her nose disappeared. Her toes made scraping noises on the floor when she walked. It was painful, yes, but so are our lives here. See? It is a simple difference in methods, but when the rubber hits the road we’re just the same.

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