Solstice Challenge – Days 5 through 7

Twenty-One Days, starting today, December 1, of things in Azeroth of Light Screenshots, from now until December 21. This works for both sides of the equator, seeing how we’re getting darker days in the North, the South is getting lighter. The only hitch I will add is you have to add a caption or haiku to your screenshot.
The topic/theme is light, and all its incarnations.

 

Day 5

WoWScrnShot_120113_194755

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 that 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.

Dylan Thomas

Personally this poem is one which always strikes a cord with me. My Mother’s eldest Brother died around 16 years ago and his descent into darkness was not an easy one. By the time he took his last breath, the disease had taken everything from him, his memories, his voice, his sight.. leaving nothing but agonizing pain barely dampened by medicines and prayers. As I was reading English Literature at the time, my Grandmother asked me to read this at the memorial service and now whenever I reread it, the years fall away and I’m back standing by a gaping void in the earth, wet with rain and tears, attempting to project my emotions into the words and not my voice.

Day 6

WoWScrnShot_112013_215751
The Temple was cool and dark, the only noise that of rippling water and yet every so often, sunbeams would dart in through painted glass, flickering across the stones and dancing across the pools, bringing life to the cloistered halls.

Day 7

WoWScrnShot_111113_195523
Light breaks where no sun shines;
Where no sea runs, the waters of the heart
Push in their tides;
And, broken ghosts with glowworms in their heads,
The things of light
File through the flesh where no flesh decks the bones.

Dylan Thomas

My love affair with Dylan Thomas started many moons ago when as a 13 year old, I discovered a battered copy of Under Milk Wood lurking underneath a bunch of magazines on a Charity Shop shelf. A few minutes and 10p later it was mine along with several dubious horror stories and an interesting romance. Curled up on the sofa, two or three pages in, I was hooked. Even now, whenever my Grandmama or Mother are bemoaning someone’s behaviour, a naughty little voice pops up in my head whispering “

Oh, what'll the neighbours say, what'll the neighbours...

If you haven’t read Under Milk Wood, I’d definitely recommend it and now, I’m off to see if I can make a character called Gossamer:

In Butcher Beynon's, Gossamer Beynon, daughter, schoolteacher,
dreaming deep, daintily ferrets under a fluttering hummock
of chicken's feathers in a slaughterhouse that has chintz
curtains and a three-pieced suite, and finds, with no surprise,
a small rough ready man with a bushy tail winking in a paper
carrier.
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