All That I Owe the Fellows of the Grave -#DylanThomas All that I owe the fellows of the grave And all the dead bequeathed from pale estates Lies in the fortuned bone, the flask of blood, Like senna stirs along the ravaged roots. O all I owe is all the flesh inherits, My fathers loves that pull upon my nerves, My sisters tears that sing upon my head My brothers blood that salts my open wounds Heir to the scalding veins that hold loves drop, My fallen filled, that had the hint of death, Heir to the telling senses that alone Acquaint the flesh with a remembered itch, I round this heritage as rounds the sun His winy sky, and , as the candles moon, Cast light upon my weather. I am heir To women who have twisted their last smile, To children who were suckled on a plague, To young adorers dying on a kiss. All such disease I doctor in my blood, And all such loves a shrub sown in the breath. Then look, my eyes, upon this bonehead fortune And browse upon the postures of the dead; All night and day I eye the ragged globe Through periscopes rightsighted from the grave; All night and day I wander in these same Wax clothes that wax upon the ageing ribs; All night my fortune slumbers in its sheet. Then look, my heart, upon the scarlet trove, And look, my grain, upon the falling wheat; All night my fortune slumbers in its sheet.
Posted on: Tue, 12 Nov 2013 17:26:55 +0000
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