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Bell Unrung

I’ve discovered a thick bell

inside of me

that elegiac poetry rings

a terribly deep booming

knell

 

It has always been there, I can tell

but I had forgotten

I think it is in all of us

a human ache, a fathomless

well

 

Being dead while alive mutes its swell

wraps the bell in fog and distance

and it must be one of the Mysteries

that you have to be alive to feel

its peal

 

that resounding shake of loss in your core

that throws all semblance to hell

 

Depression… could its fog be protection?

from all we have lost and are losing?

But a quelling that keeps us dead

In the face of death

And life

 

A society that does not realize it is in mourning

that grief is appropriate

that an elegy is going unsung

yet still death is

come

 

 

10 Comments »

  1. I was really distressed by that last word. I mean – WTF? How depressing can that be? The word itself has got a dead thump to it. Yuck!

    But clearly it was a conscious choice, so it turned me around, forcing me to unhook myself from the unusual meter, and actually think about what you were saying. Which turns out to be really, really profound.

    Good job.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. The title alone of this poem is fascinating particularly alongside that evocative picture of the approaching mist. I also liked the tolling rhyme. It made me think of the bell inside a person as the passing bell before a funeral, the bells of the dead rung from the sea, muffled by the mists of the past, the weight of time, depression, unrung, they ring on.

    Liked by 2 people

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