This is a poem I wrote after W.H.Auden’s ‘Funeral Blues’, I wanted to expand on the feelings that Auden had mentioned in his poem and added my own narrative to it so I could expand on those feelings. The italicised parts are original pieces of text from Auden’s poem.
‘Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone‘
He mumbled mournfully, in hushed tones.
And for once there was silence, in the place he called ‘home’.
He refused to keep company, he just sat there alone.
The air raid sirens sounded over his head,
They appeared to wail too, now that he was dead.
Nothing could cheer him, not even the birds,
Who sang and called to him, but they were not heard.
To him he was everything, he could not be replaced,
And he sat by the window, with an expressionless face.
Every day he sat there, from dawn to dusk,
Would talk to no one, to all he was brusque.
He sat by the window in his bedroom,
By the desk and his papers, all a mass of gloom.
And he stared at the path that led up to his door,
As he hoped he’d come to see him, just once more.
It was evident on him the strain,
But he did come to him once again.
He wandered in his dreams at night,
His smile soft and his eyes so bright.
In the morning when he would wake,
How his pitiful heart would ache.
But every night he closed his eyes,
He fulfilled his wish of saying goodbye.
‘My North, My South, My East, My West,
Without your love, I cannot rest.
Pack up the Moon, dismantle the Sun,
For without you, for me there is none.’