If we are through, and worlds must fall,
Beguile me not with clever stunts;
If you would brush me off at all,
Kindly do it all at once.
by Ray Romine Wednesday, February 6, 1952
Category: Death
Rest
(Written during 1940 election campaign, when Hate, Bitterness and Nastiness were rife, and the mail ^%$^% heavy)
To rest: there is no rest
Upon this earth
While man supreme shall roam at will,
Of animals the basest.
No rest while unrequited good
And virtue of a paltry few
Be laughed to scorn
By at-any-cost-ambitious others.
What rest when man pretends
To love a god
High-born and holy, but instead
Doth kneel at throne
Of rodomontade and avarice,
All the forms of selfishness
And sophistry unending?
No rest then, here, for us,
The undead,
Pitiful remnant of the millions
Who have escaped long since.
No rest ti l death shall loose the fetters
Thct clutch us to this jealous life
Like some fierce vulture, frantic
Lest helpless prey should flee.
To die, and there to lie
Untroubled:
Undisturbed by passions petty,
Trifling hates, and Greed,
That monster, who with breath unutterable
Doth sink fangs into heart of man,
Who, too, becomes unspeakable,
Fit company for beasts.
To die: and thus escape
The creature
Taught we are to love as brother,
Saint or snake be he.
0 Life!… Thou art but lengthy story
Whose sordid pages grim and gory
With villain-filled carousal
Must surely author shame!
To die: we fear not death.
His picture,
Bony, bloody, grim of visage,
Conjured up by man–
A part of his campaign to frighten
Into living on our children
When death would comfort offer–
Dost only solace me.
by Ray Romine Friday, November 15, 1940
In The Window Is A Candle
The dying hermit grasped my hand;
Turned burning eyes to mine:
“No sorrow feel, my lad, for me;
None are, who’ll miss, or pine.
“My life’s been lonely? Aye, that’s true,
If just of men we speak:
But God has much to offer those
Who help of Him would seek.
“I’ve talked with Him–I’ll live with Him,
Now that it’s time to go;
Lean closer now, my boy, and I’ll–
I’ll tell you why I KNOW!
“You’ve heard how travel-weary one
Be guided by a light
In window placed by anxious folk,
To lead him home aright?
“Our Father, Lord of Heav’n and earth,
Knows I no longer roam–
The Lamp of God tonight will light
This weary traveller Home.”
…….
I closer to the window moved,
In wonder, and I spied
The cause for his transfigured face,
The instant ere he died.
One lonely.star shone through the haze
Of cloudy, troubled sky;
One flick’ring beacon, there for him–
He did not fear to die!
Down seemed to float the hermit’s voice,
But strong, with new-found vim:
“God’s Light will someday justify
The Faith we have in Him!”
by Ray Romine Saturday, November 14, 1942
Have You Priced Caskets Lately??
Not “I’ll be glad when I am dead”–
(You can’t ignore the overhead)
by Ray Romine Wednesday, September 10, 1947
A Few Short Years
A few short years, I’ve ever said,
I have to claim ere I am dead:
A so-short span so all my own
To build a life with honor blown,
Or infamy perhaps, instead.
I have the choice to either wed;
I have a chance to make my bed,
To reap a harvest I’ll have sown
A few short years.
Years later: “How the time has flown.
I hear the ghastly overtone
Of Death. Keep down your hasty head;
Begone with your abortive tread.”
And the wind, or Death, do I hear moan–
“A few short years!”
by Ray Romine Monday, January 3, 1944