Poetry Analysis

I WILL SURELY DIE

Original Poetry

Translation

I WILL SURELY DIE

This analysis is in the same language as the poem, so a separate translation was not needed.

A chiseled fetid breath,

Travels down my neck,

I do not dare to check !

For what lives should rarely mock,

The dark behind doors kept shut,

The eyes behind doors kept ajar,

The silence heard form afar,

As he yields a sudden shock,

Death turns slowly in the lock.

And as the physical sanctuary breaks,

A colder, deeper recognition wakes.

No longer haunted by the bounds of clay,

I watch the scaffolding of life give away—

My fading mind begins to deduct

A contrast of me and my shade,

A truth that strips bare of my construct—

I have been made,

to be unmade.

O Maker?

There won’t be a shimmer?

No, not even a slight glimmer?

Nor a bright ladder above all matter?

Only Uncertainty.

Only your voices.

Only my choices.

Only Eternity.

O God,

spare mine,

What is and was,

What lives and does,

What loves and becomes.

What burns and rusts,

What turns to dust—

You won’t spare me.

I will surely die.

I’ve left me.

The Moonshines Glee.

The sun bleeds out.

The gold turns grey.

The mourners leave.

They drift away.

I watch the empty carriages out pass,

While you linger for the night in trance.

Below,

The wood is old,

The soil is warm,

Your voice is broken.

My heart is cold,

My Mind is storm,

My Ears hear motion.

Above,

The Moon blooms,

The burial is final,

The Sun has fallen.

Still your perfume looms,

Your heart spilt in spiral,

Your eyes red and rotten.

The night’s eye, so high

Above every cloud in the sky,

Stalks the jewel which is you:

Jealous of your blue,

Jealous of your red,

Breathless when tears are shed.

It envies the entirety of you—

But Now,

Don’t cry my Love,

Don’t lift your hands,

To a Heaven who won’t bargain,

To a Prayer who won’t Amen,

My blood only darkens.

My Love, wipe your tears.

The moon grows Zealous—

Of you, my dearest.

You outshone the shadow,

The boldest, the clearest.

But Now,

Your crying my Love,

You’ve lifted your hands,

To the Moon who won’t darken,

To the sky that won’t hearken,

For look to the silver, the treacherous sky—

The very same moon is now laughing on high…

Inside,

Where the moon is the ghost of each night you wake dreading,

The recurring ache of my corpse in the bedding—

You learn how to weather the mock of the light,

To turn from the window and outlast the night.

You clench your fists as the silver fades thin,

Refusing the shadow the right to grin.

You seals up your grief till the pale stars drown,

And wait for the dawn to burn the moon down

With me under the ground.

Explanation

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Word Dictionary

—

Poet & Context

Poet—

Era—

Themes & More

Themes

Literary devices

Poetry Analysis

I WILL SURELY DIE

Original Poetry

Translation

I WILL SURELY DIE

This analysis is in the same language as the poem, so a separate translation was not needed.

A chiseled fetid breath,

Travels down my neck,

I do not dare to check !

For what lives should rarely mock,

The dark behind doors kept shut,

The eyes behind doors kept ajar,

The silence heard form afar,

As he yields a sudden shock,

Death turns slowly in the lock.

And as the physical sanctuary breaks,

A colder, deeper recognition wakes.

No longer haunted by the bounds of clay,

I watch the scaffolding of life give away—

My fading mind begins to deduct

A contrast of me and my shade,

A truth that strips bare of my construct—

I have been made,

to be unmade.

O Maker?

There won’t be a shimmer?

No, not even a slight glimmer?

Nor a bright ladder above all matter?

Only Uncertainty.

Only your voices.

Only my choices.

Only Eternity.

O God,

spare mine,

What is and was,

What lives and does,

What loves and becomes.

What burns and rusts,

What turns to dust—

You won’t spare me.

I will surely die.

I’ve left me.

The Moonshines Glee.

The sun bleeds out.

The gold turns grey.

The mourners leave.

They drift away.

I watch the empty carriages out pass,

While you linger for the night in trance.

Below,

The wood is old,

The soil is warm,

Your voice is broken.

My heart is cold,

My Mind is storm,

My Ears hear motion.

Above,

The Moon blooms,

The burial is final,

The Sun has fallen.

Still your perfume looms,

Your heart spilt in spiral,

Your eyes red and rotten.

The night’s eye, so high

Above every cloud in the sky,

Stalks the jewel which is you:

Jealous of your blue,

Jealous of your red,

Breathless when tears are shed.

It envies the entirety of you—

But Now,

Don’t cry my Love,

Don’t lift your hands,

To a Heaven who won’t bargain,

To a Prayer who won’t Amen,

My blood only darkens.

My Love, wipe your tears.

The moon grows Zealous—

Of you, my dearest.

You outshone the shadow,

The boldest, the clearest.

But Now,

Your crying my Love,

You’ve lifted your hands,

To the Moon who won’t darken,

To the sky that won’t hearken,

For look to the silver, the treacherous sky—

The very same moon is now laughing on high…

Inside,

Where the moon is the ghost of each night you wake dreading,

The recurring ache of my corpse in the bedding—

You learn how to weather the mock of the light,

To turn from the window and outlast the night.

You clench your fists as the silver fades thin,

Refusing the shadow the right to grin.

You seals up your grief till the pale stars drown,

And wait for the dawn to burn the moon down

With me under the ground.

Explanation

—

Word Dictionary

—

Poet & Context

Poet—

Era—

Themes & More

Themes

Literary devices