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Tuesday, May 6th, 2008

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I don't think I've ever read a poem that truly encapsulated my fears about life and death the way 'Aubade' by Philip Larkin does. It's a truly magical moment to agree with every line,beat and fibre of a poem. I've always waited for this day to come and I'm glad it has.
I present to you, not the whole, but parts.

Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare.
In time the curtain-edges will grow light.
Till then I see what's really always there:
Unresting death, a whole day nearer now,
Making all thought impossible but how
And where and when I shall myself die.


And specious stuff that says No rational being
Can fear a thing it will not feel, not seeing
That this is what we fear - no sight, no sound,
No touch or taste or smell, nothing to think with,
Nothing to love or link with,
The anasthetic from which none come round.


Slowly light strengthens, and the room takes shape.
It stands plain as a wardrobe, what we know,
Have always known, know that we can't escape,
Yet can't accept.

-Aubade, Philip Larkin

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