I picked up a volume of poetry at Value Village yesterday because… well, because.

Poetry is not for everyone, I realize. And often I, too, have no clue what they are writing about.  But then there are those moments when poetry is transcendent, when the use of language is so powerful you feel like the words are leaping off the page. I was reminded of this as I paged through the book and came across my favorite Dylan Thomas poem, “Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night”.

For some reason, this poem emboldens me to live, even when my own mortality and frailty stares me in the face. Maybe it will do that for you, too. Enjoy.

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