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you thrive on fear,
but i slow you, stay you, sink my nails into you
as i sink my nails into the moon
knock if you must, but i have barred the door
i have hung a magic amulet from the rafters
my screams rise silent as a roar, black as a sun
they rise from a living heart, pierce the numb sky
my laugh is a cackle scratching your yellow eyes
i grow tired but spring back again,
a wilting rose newly watered

night done and i’ve won battle over
the puce and putrid that filled my lungs –
i breath, i breath and tenderly i poem
as if there would ever and always be another sun
i am here to race and tear, to rail and gag
still i laugh, still i love

come you must at close of day, but
your soul is prose and mine is poem,
triumph belongs to the Eternal in me
…..victory is mine

– Jamie Dedes

Holy Sonnet X

Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think’st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and souls deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better than thy stroake; why swell’st thou then;
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more, Death, thou shalt die.

– John Donne (1572-1631)

O death, where is they sting? O grave, where is they victory?” St. Paul, 1 Corinthians 15:55

© 2011, victory is mine, Jamie Dedes; © 2011, photo, Barbara Stone

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