This might need to be my new mantra

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
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.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.



I'm about to embark on something tremendously difficult for me. My guts kind of shiver when I think about what lies ahead. And I know that my light will tend towards dying a little bit as I make my way through this. I don't know if I have the energy to rage but Dylan Thomas seems so very sure that I ought to - I must say, I'm tempted to try. I'm not dying, not even close to it. But sometimes, life's waves just tire you out, y'know?