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“Sickness” by D. H. Lawrence 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿 (11 Sep 1885 – 2 Mar 1930)
Waving slowly before me, pushed into the dark,
Unseen my hands explore the silence, drawing the bark
Of my body slowly behind.
​
Nothing to meet my fingers but the fleece of night
Invisible blinding my face and my eyes! What if in their flight
My hands should touch the door!
​
What if I suddenly stumble, and push the door
Open, and a great grey dawn swirls over my feet, before
I can draw back!
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What if unwitting I set the door of eternity wide
And am swept away in the horrible dawn, am gone down the tide
Of eternal hereafter!
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Catch my hands, my darling, between your breasts.
Take them away from their venture, before fate wrests
The meaning out of them.