Tuesday, 17 September 2013

Stop all the clocks

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone

W. H. Auden

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

My beautiful Simon

I am bereft, heartbroken, destroyed. 
My love is dead. My beautiful man decided to end his suffering and go back to the loving kindness of the universe. I know his pain has ended. He lived a rich, full, complicated life, I know he enjoyed many happy moments and he fulfilled his dream of being a great helicopter pilot. 
There was much adversity on his life and much sadness and loneliness but he enjoyed a blessed childhood, a loving family, and he was loved beyond limits by myself and others. 
He conducted himself with honesty and dignity, he fought his pains and his demons with such courage and grace until the end. He was a true gentleman. 
I shall forever miss his love, his smile, his beautiful eyes. 
He was the one who truly knew me and accepted the deeply flawed person that I am without conditions or reservations. 
I know he loved me. 

Farewell my love until we meet again.