Tags: grief


for Chris

Hear me, Lord of the Stars!
For thee I have worshipped ever
With stains and sorrows and scars,
With joyful, joyful endeavour.
Hear me, O lily-white goat!
O crisp as a thicket of thorns,
With a collar of gold for Thy throat,
A scarlet bow for Thy horns!

Here, in the dusty air,
I build Thee a shrine of yew.
All green is the garland I wear,
But I feed it with blood for dew!
After the orange bars
That ribbed the green west dying
Are dead, O Lord of the Stars,
I come to Thee, come to Thee crying.

The ambrosial moon that arose
With breasts slow heaving in splendour
Drops wine from her infinte snows,
Ineffably, utterly, tender.
O moon! ambrosial moon!
Arise on my desert of sorrow,
That the magical eyes of me swoon
With the lust of rain to-morrow!

Ages and ages ago
I stood on the bank of a river,
Holy and holy and holy, I know,
For ever and ever and ever!
A priest in the mystical shrine,
I muttered a redeless rune,
Till the waters were redder than wine
In the blush of the harlot moon.

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firesea: self-portrait

For Chris

I have no words to express what I feel today. Unutterable sadness that one of the brightest stars of my life has set; unutterable joy that finally he is without pain, free to continue his journey to places I can't even imagine.

If I can strive to be half of what he was, to radiate half the light that he did, I will have achieved more than I can dream of.

A psychological effect of grief seems to be possessiveness of your relationship; the feeling, however knowingly irrational, that no one else could know what you're feeling, that he couldn't have meant to others what he meant to you.

The miracle of Chris was that he did mean just that much, and more - to everyone. To people he met for a single day, an hour, they all recognized that blazing fire of joy and divine light within him. The world is a poorer, dimmer place without him; but we are infinitely richer for his memory.

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