Rage

(Inspired by “Do Not Go Quietly Into That Good Night” by Dylan Thomas)

Rage, yes – but not at dying, not the dusk
that gathers like a mother’s shawl around
your shoulders. Rage instead at coward’s husk
of fear, that silences the trumpet sound.
Death comes – of this, no man may disavow –
but not all men must kneel before the how.

Strike, yes – at shadows, when they steal your name,
at lies that sell you velvet for a crown.
Let blaze be blaze, not candlelight made tame.
God does not flinch when towers crumble down.
Let every word be flint against the dark –
you were not born to murmur, but to spark.

And yet – the dark is not your enemy.
It waits not with a scythe, but with a bowl.
Its halt is not a void but symphony.
Its quiet seeks to borrow of the soul.
You warred with dusk, and dusk has kissed your brow.
You thought it foe. It comes to teach you now.

So rage, then – rage with clarity, not pride.
Not at the shroud, but at your urge to flee.
Not at the grave, but at the urge to hide
when love still labors in Gethsemane.
Die standing, yes – but not in vain revolt,
Let faith unclench what fury could not bolt.