Do not go gentle into that good night

DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO
THAT GOOD NIGHT

I recently remembered a poem that I studied in high school by Dylan Thomas.  The title is do not go gentle into that good night.  It was read at my ex father in laws funeral and it has always had a special place in my heart.  But I think it has even more meaning for me since I got diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis.  It is so simple to just give up and allow the night to take over, to allow the disease to progress, to allow my body to fade, but I need to rage.  I need to fight.

 Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay has nothing at all to do with homosexuality, but I say this to my gay brethren, Rage!  Do not allow the fools of this world to discourage you and let their words slice at your soul like a sword.  Rage!

The dictionary defines rage as:

rage  (rj)

n.

1.

a. Violent, explosive anger. See Synonyms at anger.

b. A fit of anger.

2. Furious intensity, as of a storm or disease.

3. A burning desire; a passion.

4. A current, eagerly adopted fashion; a fad or craze: when torn jeans were all the rage.

intr.v. raged, rag·ing, rag·es

1. To speak or act in violent anger: raged at the mindless bureaucracy.

2. To move with great violence or intensity: A storm raged through the mountains.

3. To spread or prevail forcefully: The plague raged for months.

 

I never thought of rage as a burning desire or passion, but it makes sense.  Again we need to rage in life, we need to fill ourselves with a burning desire to live and not just exist! 

So, to all people out there gay, straight, healthy or suffering....  Get raging!  I hope you are inspired by this poem as well.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage 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.