Before
Who knew how to die?
That it wouldn’t be instantaneous
As children imagine
A sudden pain, then unconsciousness
Who knew?
Death could go on years
Building and slowing like cold sea water
Burning firework left to fizzle alone in inky sky
That it would wind and unwind, a mad clock void of correct motion
Who knew?
It could take the very young, wrap them in wool, to cast down wet hill
The jarring and bumping eventual colission held at bay
Till forgotten
That it could take you
Suspend you from me and all familiar things
Where the recognition in your once clear and beautiful eyes
Became muddied and clouded with quiet violence
Your touch so soft, stolen and replaced with flinty brush off
Who knew
The courage of fighters
Seathing against their sentence and eventual
Chop chop of parts, scars and marred
Skin once free of blade
A scratch board of operation knives
She reached me
As I sat in my safe world
Pulled me through
I smelt anticeptic
Read her clever whirring mind
Far too smart for this dull world
How can such people die?
She laughs and says
At least I’ll go young and whilst I have my looks
So long as you don’t show the undertaker my scars
They remind me of barbed wire and grey hair and the lines you cut in snow
When skiing downhill
Her lips are red, she says
I used to ride horses and can speak five languages
I say
I wish you would stay
I could read you eternally
It’s the macabre and giggling nervousness you feel
Around dying
It brings out the worst or the best of us
I wanted to bolt
Race down the road
But I remain and listen
To the gurgle of her catheter
And saw the bruised clouds grow
As rain came like tears behind pitched fingers
Her humor never left
She knew more than all of us
What a terrible, terrible waste
She said; I can make an authentic French 75
I wanted to swap places, I am not so rarefied
But I am a coward
Before the machinations of surgeons
What devour they do, to our poor skin
Does it really prevent anything?
She asked, laughing at the cat
Who is also old and infirm before his time
Still batting the window when birds come to peck
At crumbs of comfort because it’s those little things
She says, keep you going
Like my favorite soup, a funny film, the sun coming over horizon
Reminding me I can still
Breathe
I learn to appreciate life
From her dying
The morsel of me
Though of language I only know two and
Cannot spell in either
It seems
Life is savage in her cull
The bright and wonderful snatched
Who among us had an idea of
How to die?
Then she laughs
Her teeth still white, her skin waxy and hot
And says, oh dear you!
Who among us
Knew truly
How
To live?
TheFeatheredSleep 
Four years ago, a good friend of mine died from an asthma attack. She was not yet thirty. One year after that, another good friend of mine died from cancer. She was not yet forty. Both had a beauty to them and strength that I could never match. On my bad days, I think of them. One left a husband behind, the other, a husband and two handsome boys. I don’t know why reading this made me think of them…
“A scratch board of operation knives
She reached me
As I sat in my safe world
Pulled me through
I smelt anticeptic
Read her clever whirring mind
Far too smart for this dull world
How can such people die?
She laughs and says
At least I’ll go young and whilst I have my looks
So long as you don’t show the undertaker my scars”
Dying is almost never a welcome subject to discuss for some, but I’ve seen affinity for the topic, a somewhat undeniable respect for it. This is sad yet revealing yet admirable and hurtful too.
Peace, Candice.
Wonderful. Every word.
heart wrenching, profound tribute.
Reblogged this on AreMyFeetOffTheGround and commented:
This….by Candice Louisa Daquin at The Feathered Sleep
https://thefeatheredsleepcom.wordpress.com
Dying is easy; we need do nothing to attain it. Living is hard.
Knowing how to live. Knowing how to die. Equal mysteries, or all one?
A beautiful remembrance of someone special.
Reblogged this on cabbagesandkings524 and commented:
TheFeatheredSleep on the passing of friend too soon.
This is a rare read for me…two or three times. What a disquieting insight. Thanks for sharing. I’m reblogging on my site.
The image you chose of the poppy is perfect. I can’t stop looking at it. Ten years ago I had a vision, Death teaching me how to die. At first I was frightened and then when I realized fighting only increased the pain, I surrendered. I paid close attention to the breath until there was no more distinction between me and my breath. I had melted into it and it was eternal. Maybe this has something to do with what your friend was saying about living? Your poem is profound.
A profound statement on death!
Sad – I hope you are well. Is this written for the loss of a friend ?
Thank you so very much Lee I am so grateful to you
Deeply salutary
I agree with other comments, Candice – a profound and powerful poem about death and loss. Death is something I think about every day, as so many of my friends and family have passed…. Wishing you comfort and peace, my friend. ❤️
Dearest B I think it’s important to write about it and I send you my love 💓 knowing your walk isn’t easy but you are a light in the darkness
‘Tis you who are the light in the darkness, Candice. And as for death, it’s something I’ve never been afraid of for myself, and am usually philosophical about it. (My fear is for any pain and suffering, however, which your poem depicts so poignantly). The loss for those of us left behind is hard, however. And so I feel for what you’re going through. 💓
Oh how this rings with me as of late. So much time spent around hospital and doctors and the cold and unfeeling light of florescent lamps. Profoundly beautiful, Shieldmaiden. ❤