Unmade

Sometimes I stand in awe of how so much can be said with so few words. Thank you for this.

It's always nice to get feedback on stuff, especially things that have been published some time ago.

Migbird, I wrote this with one thumb on my smartphone travelling on the Settle to Carlisle railway. It's a poem about death. Sort of. Mostly it's a poem about letting go of struggle and fading into the memories of those that remember and love us. Becoming unmade, as we all must.

I had just stayed at Appleby Castle, one of many castles once the had won inheritance of the long late Lady Anne Clifford. Having learned during the castle tour, of some details of her life, I had a little cry. I went down to the church and found the grand sarcophagus and surround that her daughter erected in her memory cordoned off due to decay in the stonework... It was unsafe to touch it.

She wrote about her life and the struggles therein which she overcame; also about how much she loved her huge estate, and her connection to its land and people. I started writing some convoluted tribute (it was a long train ride) but it didn't feel right. This poem is what came of staring out the window at the purple hills of her landscape.

Thoughtful; maybe poignant. Question: title — help me; do not get.

Thank you x

A thought-provoking, pensive poem.

Evoked thoughts of mortality and finality, yet also inspired me to consider eternal life embracing me in Nature’s bosom.

You accomplished that with far fewer words, and much mor eloquence, than my comment.

Thank you!