Titanic needs the bifurcated timeline so Rose can symbolically drown herself and join Jack in the afterlife. The love-is-death story is so common we could do nothing but list sentence-long summaries of examples for weeks. In its lasting depictions, love is a way to die more often than a way to live. In Amour , Georges leaves home for the last time following a vision of Anne Into dementia? Into death? Looking at love death-first shrinks the distinction between traditional romantic relationships and progressive variations on the model that locate its flaw in sexual jealousy.
Casual sex, primary partners, physical and emotional availability, and other such distinctions contain amorous relations with the negotiation of the couple. Amour , as a love story sans sex, isolates the part of partnership that polyamory seeks to protect from the consequences of ephemeral desire. In the near future, when same-sex couples in California are permanently granted the right to marry, one of the privileges they will inherit is detailed in a special section in the criminal code that allows a sentence of probation for convicted rapists, provided they raped only their spouse.
In fact a University of Pennsylvania study on gay and lesbian intimate-partner violence found slightly higher rates than those for hetero couples. The U. A spouse is both your default next of kin and the family member most likely to murder you.
Love figures prominently in breakdowns of murder and suicide by motive. Two pieces of data jump out at me: 1. A love of his own, a consort to adorn his endless and hallowed halls, a companion who would comfort his heart when it broke from the sadness of his errands, who would weep with him when he carried home little ones in his arms, who would greet him with a joy equal to the terror with which mortals greeted him.
Above all, he wished for a wife into whom he might pour his passion. One soul stretching across the darkness toward another. It can be a scary feeling if you are the one doing the reaching. A lonely feeling. But when, out of the blackness, you feel that other soul reaching out to you too Believe me. At the end of it all maybe, it is the only feeling.
One does not feel at all for there is nothing in the mind to make sense of it. Nothing, but one's own death. West, The Spirit Engineer. We all love you. No matter how different you are, no matter if you leave us one day. What brings us together universally is love and the language of our souls.
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I feel for you. It's very unexpected. It was the most difficult thing I have been through. He had back surgery in August and contracted an infection that What keeps me sane is knowing I have memories of us. The pictures captured a glimpse, but my heart captured everything like a film recorder. I lost my boyfriend, Joseph, to a car accident on February 9, , a day to my birthday. He was I had a photo session for my birthday, which I planned sending to him on the 9th.
At work I closed my eyes. My tears rolled straight to the floor, All I wanted was to feel something more. I was torn inside. There are a hundred places where I fear To go — so with his memory they brim. Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rage at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
The bustle in a house The morning after death Is solemnest of industries Enacted upon earth. The sweeping up the heart And putting love away We shall not want to use again Until eternity. At once she understood When she heard the words Their meaning clear And in that instant Her voice broke And then in her throat A lump formed Behind her eyes She felt the stinging And a tear formed Then rolled down her cheek Followed by another Then another The salt taste was in her mouth Her shoulders shook Uncontrollably And her mouth opened wide But know sound escaped Tears continued down her cheeks And her nose Then her legs buckled And she fell to her knees In total despair Now the sound came Uncontrollable With her love lost Her heart was broken With her love betrayed Her heart was discarded But with all the weeping She knew inside That all her tears Would never extinguish her love.
You were gone before I knew it, And only God knew why. A million times I needed you, A million times I cried. If love alone could have saved you, You never would have died. In life I loved you dearly, In death I love you still. In my heart you hold a place, That no one could ever fill.
Shall I wither and fall like an autumn leaf, From this deep sorrow — from this painful grief? How can I go on or find a way to be strong? Sometimes a warm memory sheds light in the dark And eases the pain like the song of a Meadow Lark.
Then I look at a photo of your playful smiling face And for a moment I escape to a serene happy place; Remembering the laughter and all you would do, Cherishing the honest, caring, loving spirit of you. I know what my heart is like Since your love died: It is like a hollow ledge Holding a little pool Left there by the tide, A little tepid pool, Drying inward from the edge.
In the dream at the gate to your grave you stopped me with the same words I had spoken in a dream where I died before you. Rusty, and on squeaky hinges all the gates I have ever seen, heard, or described close one by one under a grey sky. What can I say about the world in which your ashes sit in an urn other than that? On every trip you stay ahead of me. On platforms I see your footprints in fresh snow. When the train starts to move you jump out of the black carriage.
Outside the small towns with their sleep street lights; stadiums bright as capitols. Where else should you look for the ring which, the night the power went out, rolled under the bed and was gone? I miss you too, Forever! I wonder if it hurts to live — And if They have to try — And whether — could They choose between — It would not be — to die —.
I note that Some — gone patient long — At length, renew their smile — An imitation of a Light That has so little Oil —. The Grieved — are many — I am told — There is the various Cause — Death — is but one — and comes but once — And only nails the eyes —. Those golden dreams and aspirations, The seed of yesterday a withered bloom, Those baubles which are cause to celebrate In death now mock us gently from his tomb.
Sometimes beneath close eyelids I quest to bring you back As if you were driftwood floating Downstream on your back. I dip my hands beneath the veil And dry away the death And from my parting, weeping lips I give you back your breath — Just like the rising sunset burning In the summer sky Paints and saints the mountaintops And casts their colors bright. This last section of beautiful poems about death illustrate the incredible comforting and healing power of language.
These poets use stunning imagery and descriptive language in their death poems to illustrate that death is not all ugliness. Till then, remember me, you understand — and try not to cry. But if you do: Let your tears fall For the happiness and joy we knew, And for the special love we shared, For love can never die.
If I should die, And you should live, And time should gurgle on, And morn should beam, And noon should burn, As it has usual done; If birds should build as early, And bees as bustling go,— One might depart at option From enterprise below! It makes the parting tranquil And keeps the soul serene, That gentlemen so sprightly Conduct the pleasing scene! Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding. Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.
And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy;. And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields. And you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief. It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self. Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy in silence and tranquillity:.
For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided by the tender hand of the Unseen,. And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter has moistened with His own sacred tears. I see a dying swan Resting on the marshes of the bank Her feathers white as snow Her wings like that of a silk.
I hear a dying swan whispering softly to the river While she rests and sleeps the river answers back with a song. A song of life and death Graping onto her graceful neck breath took her away And now she sleeps and never comes back. So go and run free with the angels Dance around the golden clouds For the lord has chosen you to be with him And we should feel nothing but proud Although he has taken you from us And our pain a lifetime will last Your memory will never escape us But make us glad for the time we did have Your face will always be hidden Deep inside our hearts Each precious moment you gave us Shall never, ever depart So go and run free with the angels As they sing so tenderly And please be sure to tell them To take good care of you for me.
I have sent up my gladness on wings, to be lost in the blue of the sky. I have run and leaped with the rain, I have taken the wind to my breast.
My cheek like a drowsy child to the face of the earth I have pressed. I cannot say and I will not say That she is dead, she is just away. With a cheery smile and a wave of hand She has wandered into an unknown land; And left us dreaming how very fair Its needs must be, since she lingers there. And you — oh you, who the wildest yearn From the old-time step and the glad return — Think of her faring on, as dear In the love of there, as the love of here Think of her still the same way, I say; She is not dead, she is just away.
I will be there when the wild flowers Dance in the spring meadow When the summer breeze moves through A field of ripening wheat When the morning mist of autumn Softens the landscape And when the winter sun Sparkles and glints on the snow And I will be by your side Through your loneliest hours. I will be there when you retrace our steps And when you stand on the lake shore My reflection will not be on the water By I am still with you When you walk in the autumn Through the golden carpet I will be in the dancing leaves And when the snow lays Though I will leave no foot prints I am there for these moments that were ours.
At the end of the storm Is a golden sky And the sweet silver song of a lark. Walk on through the wind, Walk on through the rain, Though your dreams be tossed and blown. I am the snowflake that kisses your nose, I am the frost, that nips your toes. I am the sun, bringing you light, I am the star, shining so bright. I am the rain, refreshing the earth, I am the laughter, I am the mirth. Because I have loved life, I shall have no sorrow to die. My cheeks like a drowsy child to the face of the earth I have pressed.
I have kissed young love on the lips, I have heard his song to the end, I have struck my hand like a seal in the loyal hand of a friend. I have known the peace of heaven, the comfort of work done well. I have longed for death in the darkness and risen alive out of hell. I gave a share of my soul to the world, when and where my course is run. I know that another shall finish the task I surely must leave undone. I know that no flower, nor flint was in vain on the path I trod.
As one looks on a face through a window, through life I have looked on God, Because I have loved life, I shall have no sorrow to die. At that hour when all things have repose, O lonely watcher of the skies, Do you hear the night wind and the sighs Of harps playing unto Love to unclose The pale gates of sunrise? When all things repose, do you alone Awake to hear the sweet harps play To Love before him on his way, And the night wind answering in antiphon Till night is overgone?
Play on, invisible harps, unto Love, Whose way in heaven is aglow At that hour when soft lights come and go, Soft sweet music in the air above And in the earth below.
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