Tuesday, September 11, 2007


Six years have passed, and yet the images splashed across the media seem as raw as that day. My thoughts are with everyone who lost someone that day, and to all who were affected in other ways, if it is true that what doesn't kill us makes us stronger, then in my eyes you are all truly some of the bravest and most robust people on earth. If it is possible to have a favorite funeral poem, without it being too morbid - then this would be mine. To me, it seems as appropriate for a memorial, so here follows W. H. Audens Funeral Blues/Stop All The Clocks.
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

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