According To Death Poem by Robert Rorabeck

According To Death

Rating: 3.8


With others old and gray,
Or not so old at all—Maybe they will
Mostly be fair haired and young,
If it should be a tragedy. Who knows?
But this is known, I will die some day
When Death comes to collect that part of
Me that he sees fit to remain,
To gather me up— a silhouette
Of the somber procession upon the hill
Backlit by a tired sun— The busy insects will
Eat what is left, the scuttling carnivores,
Nature’s vacuum cleaners which God created to
Keep things cleaned, so there are no leftovers
As everything is satisfied—
Away from the anthills and plaguing swarms we
Will go, being grinned out by our own death masks
As we leave, bidding adieus—
Those heartless grins ex-lovers put on for show-
Go down with that orb if Death leads us there,
But who knows where Death goes, except that
He will take us with him to the other side,
His black robes billowing importantly, for
He is the herald of our great king, his
Skeletal hand pointing ever onward like a compass, onward in the
Shade which is so very quiet where no hearts beat,
No blood flows— And maybe our procession will never
End. We will just keep going down in some great viewless stairwell
Beneath the world until we forget that we ever knew the pains of settlement.
In that abyssal fjord where Death will ditch us,
And leave us to the tricks of his shadow as he dives back up
To collect some more….
But this is known— that one day I shall die
And so shall you. My mother will die….
And on that day of the week people will be born
And the people already there shall live— People will go out and make love.
On that Friday a movie will come out you will never see
And there will be a book written that would have made me cry….
And the sun will come up afterwards like it did for us,
But not really so similar all in all, for our sun will be dead,
And this new sun rising is only for the living. Perhaps,
Though, we shall not care at all, knowing that these gifts are
Laid about to gladden the living, as we find newly indescribable
Things to attire our naked souls, or maybe we will not remember
At all. Maybe we will be like the egg in the nest in the crook of a branch
Of an expansive tree. Laying there in our nooks waiting to hatch again
To be filled with new thoughts, like the river’s changing gown,
We will become again something we never before were.
But one thing is certain,
That one day you shall die
And I shall follow you, before or after,
It matters little as we shall all accord to Death.


*For Ingmar Bergman

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Linda Ori 12 August 2007

Some very deep contemplation going on here, Robert. What is Death, afterall? We can only speculate, since we won't come back to tell about it, or maybe we will? In this lifetime or the next. Like 'an egg in the nest waiting to hatch again'........I like that concept. Nicely done, Robert. Linda :)

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Ted Sheridan 18 August 2007

What you say is very true. I see death as just part of a long trip...kind of like traveling across the country and then you come to Texas....

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Frank Cannon 30 July 2008

Statistically you shall follow after me but, I'm almost sure, some branch of physics would have you following before me but, until either scenario comes to pass, we will not know if I shall be able to read your collected works on the far off bank of the river styx! !

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Chuck Petz 12 November 2008

Heavy, but well said.It is written'Man that is born of woman is of few days, and full of trouble'.

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Samanyan Lakshminarayanan 17 January 2009

lovely poem..truth all the way..10

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Chinedu Dike 04 February 2017

Indeed, dust to dust is a must and we shall all accord to death. An insightful philosophical poem, well articulated and nicely penned in beautiful diction with conviction. Thanks for sharing Robert.

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Kim Barney 03 January 2016

Very nice. I especially enjoyed these lines: a silhouette Of the somber procession upon the hill Backlit by a tired sun— The busy insects will Eat what is left, the scuttling carnivores, Nature’s vacuum cleaners

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Abdulrazak Aralimatti 27 August 2015

Truly, death will take us away one day towards a new beginning with new thoughts and new Endurance Loved reading the poem

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Rajesh Thankappan 14 January 2015

At all. Maybe we will be like the egg in the nest in the crook of a branch Of an expansive tree. Laying there in our nooks waiting to hatch again To be filled with new thoughts, like the river’s changing gown, We will become again something we never before were. A very beautiful poem expressing your expectations from death. Excellent work.

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Kristian Lorenzen 27 February 2014

Brilliant! ! ! I Now images of Persona flicker before my inner eye :)

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Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
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