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The Bane Of The Cancered Soul

There is no God in England
(I learned of that this day)
For when a man is stricken
He has no more to say.
He lies in expectation,
The end to shortly be,
His heart is blindly gazing out
Through eyes that barely see.

The blaze within his body
Radiates, and yet,
The chilling of his very soul
Allows him to forget.
With sonance all around him,
The sobbing and the tears,
He listens to so many words
Whereas he hardly hears.

And so within his restless mind
His hopes are all he'll keep;
All he'll find to comfort him
As those about him weep.
And in the darkness of the hour,
When all is done and said,
He sleeps the sleep that comes to pass
And rapes his weary head.

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content

Comments

I feel extremely humbled to see your heart on your sleeve. I actually had to think a lot if i liked the word you used on the last line but now i understand its perfect for this extremely intence situation. Big Hugs Im sorry you lost someone so fond to you.

Thank you...Teddy

Have a good trip to Firenza ~ all will be well.

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Critique is a compliment
Kind regards, Alan
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author comment

Thing is, I can't critique this! XD Your meter is flawless, and I love how easily it flows. I also love how you switched the old saying "When all is said and done" around to "When all is done and said". Was that on purpose? In either case, it makes one realize the meaning as if new.
A truly well-written poem. And the title is so powerful.
~

"To reveal art and conceal the artist is art's true aim." Oscar Wilde

Thank you for your kind words. I had to deliberately use a little licence and juggle the words of the phrase in order to maintain the rhyming scheme ~ 'Said' with 'Head'.

.......................................
Critique is a compliment
Kind regards, Alan
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author comment

Dear Alan, what a sad poem. Is it a friend? So sorry, my condolences to all the family and to you.The rhymes are perfect, so is the title and spacing. I wonder what you mean by "rapes his head"? Also, why is there no God in England?
All the best, Gracy

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

Thank you for your, always welcome, comments. Yes it is a sad poem, I wrote it for a friend who asked me to write something as he was slowly succumbing to a brain tumor. Although now passed away he approved of the poem whilst he was still with us. Your words are kind words ~ thank you. I deliberately used the phrase 'Rapes his head' as it was (in my view) the most forceful description I could imagine of the snatching away, without consent, of a man's life. Rape(s) is used here in it's true context of snatching away without permission. It is a very powerful word I think (taken from the Latin  Rapere ~ to snatch, grab or carry off). It was used in it's true context by Alexander Pope in his famous (1712) poem 'The Rape Of The Lock', the lock being a lock of Arabella's hair which was cut off by a suitor without her approval and which caused a huge family rift. The reference to God and England is because the patient, my friend, had spent much of his life in Canada and had returned to live in his native England 20 years ago. He had planed to remove to Canada to spend his retirement as he used to say (for reasons known only to him) "England had become a God forsaken place!". I visited him twice per week for the 12 months of his illness and for a final time on 03 October, the day before he left us.

.......................................
Critique is a compliment
Kind regards, Alan
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author comment

Hello, Alan,
I've read and re-read your poem. Most comments I give regard the nature and meaning of a poem much more than actual structure. This, one of your most inspiring and deepest poems, has surfaced so many feelings. My husband passed away 11 years ago after a 4-year struggle with cancer. Little by little he lost so much - sight, kidneys, he became paralyzed. I watched him lose it all, but I also saw his incredible soul strengthen and his heart flourish. I remember realizing I had never witnessed such integrity nor experienced, myself, such a deep level of sadness. If your poem is about someone you know, I am sorry you've lost a dear loved one. Your first line says so very much - in some ways I agree. In other ways, I see things a bit differently. Best regards.
Thank you,
L

I am so sorry to hear of your husband's plight, you must think of him often.  Yes, this poem was written for a friend.  Having asked me to write something, he approved of it before he died.  He endured his illness for 12 months, far less than you both were to experience,  My friend and I spent lots of time togerther (before his illness) and, upon learning of his tumor (although not knowing that it was untreatable then) I wrote a first poem dedicated to us ourselves, but could equally apply to anyone of a certain age. Therefore it is published here if you would care to take a look.

www.mypoeticside.com/show-poem-115118

If God exists why, then, does he treat us so in the end?

.......................................
Critique is a compliment
Kind regards, Alan
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author comment

Hi, Alan,
What a graceful and reverent homage to not only your bond and friendship, but to each of you as individuals. Many condolences, Alan.
L

Hello, Alan,
Sorry! Double post. Operator error! :)
L

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