Blessed be thy merciful hands on my speechless and motionless companion, for the less he felt the longer he endured. I know my face was like a washed out water painted portrait to him, and lack of comprehension made me no clearer than shades of death walking in the streets of Egypt to have done what had been written in a harvest of heads of slaves to be. Myself shall not dwell in this image for my companion comprehended it as much as I understood his gestures. For I have felt despair of not being understood I can understand a man's will to die after a fortnight of only crawling in his own head. Just as one cannot take away a man's will to live, one cannot take a way a man's will to die. And when the cold hands of death came claimed the harvest, he was still in the merciful hands of sister morphine.
Friday, September 30, 2016
In loving memory of Ernest William Rhymer (30th of September, 2016)
Blessed be thy merciful hands on my speechless and motionless companion, for the less he felt the longer he endured. I know my face was like a washed out water painted portrait to him, and lack of comprehension made me no clearer than shades of death walking in the streets of Egypt to have done what had been written in a harvest of heads of slaves to be. Myself shall not dwell in this image for my companion comprehended it as much as I understood his gestures. For I have felt despair of not being understood I can understand a man's will to die after a fortnight of only crawling in his own head. Just as one cannot take away a man's will to live, one cannot take a way a man's will to die. And when the cold hands of death came claimed the harvest, he was still in the merciful hands of sister morphine.
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