Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
—Dylan Thomas
Tell me more
of light, of dying
rage.
Does it linger
obscenely as spring blossoms
singing to their branches?
Do they not wither too,
the wild wise petals
in summer’s thunder?
The good and grave
giving kindly to lightning,
caught in an echoing clap.
Resting, at last,
in gentle autumn,
crackling like fire.
Does it linger—
rage?
Or lie to rest quiet
blanketed by snow?
Kat Dornian, 2025
Kat Dornian 