A Magic White Death Poem by Julia Luber
A Magic White Death
You always thought that when you'd die, you'd look back at a magnificent life filled with
great times, friends and family-people you loved and places so gloriously enveloping
that some part of your dying and diseased mind, (as you are dying, remember)
might have confused this place from being heaven.
You contemplated that it would be a fantastic death-exploding into that magic white
tranquility of peace, where the power of consciousness becomes equal with the fact
that life had ever been at all. You always thought that you would have loved life and
that it would have never crossed your mind, to ever be happy to die. But that you
would engage death, nonetheless, with some relief and respect. A kind of Grand Finale!
And there would be white flames- ice cold white flames,
higher than snowcaps and places that are famous for being very high up.
You would feel great in looking back at life and thinking it had beena magnificent ride.
But it hasn't been that way for a long long time.
And this grandiose almost megalomaniac's death you once imagined,
instead feels like a massive glacier with chunks of its disintegration happening
whenever it is in the mood to do so. Huge blocks of white ice breaking
off and collapsing into an ocean so accommodative of that glacier's
suspenseful disintegration.
They are breaking off and falling apart at whim, on their own time, whenever
what Death is gets in the mood to surface and aggress.
Over your will, against your great Respect. When it wants to. Not according
to what and when you looked into the future and decided what it would be like.
Life no longer feels like something to love and respect:
it feels like something to fear.
Because there is no other choice
and so many terrible things happen to some people.
And all of our dreams seem to be confiscated so that
at least somebody will know this kind of terrific death I used to
imagine and believe in for myself-
a fantastic and final dominance of Life.
Something stronger and higher.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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7/23/2025 6:30:12 PM # 1.0.0
A very honest poetic view of life and death... when young, we often enjoy life and ignore death, when matured, we are wary of life and fear death, when old, we get tired of life and welcome death. Death is our constant companion, always loyal to the core. We just shift our acceptance from glorious death to wary death because we fear the unknown. Glorious because we are still far from death, wary because we are already knocking at the door of death.10+
Very astute comment on a strange poem that is not so clear about any specific emotions and which as well is slightly maniacal from the high-charged 'subject' and impact of death. Really, " dead" on! (LOL- get it? Death subject- target notation: Dead On!) Thanks for a profound and explicating comment on a strange and twisted poem.