The door has no key to let you out
Your trapped in a web of despair
Your cought by the power of another
Now your broken and past repair.
You have no control you are boundless
You have no voice you are soundless
Floating in air you are groundless.
The hopes you had cannot be found
Great exspectations have let you down
Now all that is left are feelings of dought
Given to you by the power of another.
All of your colours have now turned grey
Leaving your dreams in disarray
All that you had has gone too soon
Taken from you by the power of another
What ever happened to the sun and moon
And all the stars that shone so bright.?
And all those fields you walked upon
They have all disappeared into the night.
You lived on earth in your own paradise
Now all has gone like a bird in flight
Taken from you by the power of another
Snatched away from your heart and mind
Gone in a flash then out of sight
Your hopes have become like a fading light.

christopher-victor-russon

Fading light.

Jun 5, 2026

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eleanor-prince

moving piece! that sense of being robbed by the power of another is pervasive here - such an emasculating sensation to have our choice impinged needlessly - powerful write!!

valsa-george

To be under one's control all the time is miserable !

zebrablack

a stunning write ,,,you can tell time my friend :)

kim-johanna-baker

I love this Christopher, to be under the control of others having the very life sucked out of you is a real thing, you have conveyed this so well in your wonderful poetry... great write my friend.. well done!.. tyfs..kimx

Kimmied1105

reality

Great poem, with legs, awaiting your giving it wings.  Can't help but retort with a great one   :)   "Story Behind Dylan Thomas&#8217;s &#8220;Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night&#8221;" and the Poet&#8217;s Own Stirring Reading of His Masterpiece, &#8220;Rage, rage against the dying of the light.&#8221;  BY MARIA POPOVA: &#8220;Poetry can break open locked chambers of possibility, restore numbed zones to feeling, recharge desire,&#8221; Adrienne Rich wrote in contemplating what poetry does. &#8220;Insofar as poetry has a social function it is to awaken sleepers by other means than shock,&#8221; Denise Levertov asserted in her piercing statement on poetics. Few poems furnish such a wakeful breaking open of possibility more powerfully than &#8220;Do not go gentle into that good night&#8221; &#8212; a rapturous ode to the unassailable tenacity of the human spirit by the Welsh poet Dylan Thomas (October 27, 1914&#8211;November 9, 1953).  Written in 1947, Thomas&#8217;s masterpiece was published for the first time in the Italian literary journal Botteghe Oscure in 1951 and soon included in his 1952 poetry collection In Country Sleep, And Other Poems. In the fall of the following year, Thomas &#8212; a self-described &#8220;roistering, drunken and doomed poet&#8221; &#8212; drank himself into a coma while on a reading and lecture tour in America organized by the American poet and literary critic John Brinnin, who would later become his biographer of sorts. That spring, Brinnin had famously asked his assistant, Liz Reitell &#8212; who had had a three-week romance with Thomas &#8212; to lock the poet into a room in order to meet a deadline for the completion of his radio drama turned stage play 'Under Milk Wood', Dylan Thomas, early 1940's.  In early November of 1953, as New York suffered a burst of air pollution that exacerbated his chronic chest illness, Thomas succumbed to a round of particularly heavy drinking. When he fell ill, Reitell and her doctor attempted to manage his symptoms, but he deteriorated rapidly. At midnight on November 5, an ambulance took the comatose Thomas to St. Vincent&#8217;s Hospital in New York. His wife, Caitlin Macnamara, flew from England and spun into a drunken rage upon arriving at the hospital where the poet lay dying. After threatening to kill Brinnin, she was put into a straitjacket and committed to a private psychiatric rehab facility.  When Thomas died at noon on November, it fell on New Directions founder James Laughlin to identify the poet&#8217;s body at the morgue. Just a few weeks later, New Directions published The Collected Poems of Dylan Thomas (public library), containing the work Thomas himself had considered most representative of his voice as a poet and, now, of his legacy &#8212; a legacy that has continued to influence generations of writers, artists, and creative mavericks: Bob Dylan changed his last name from Zimmerman in an homage to the poet, The Beatles drew his likeness onto the cover of Sgt. Pepper&#8217;s Lonely Hearts Club Band, and Christopher Nolan made &#8220;Do not go gentle into that good night&#8221; a narrative centerpiece of his film Interstellar.  Upon receiving news of Thomas&#8217;s death, the poet Elizabeth Bishop wrote in an astonished letter to a friend: It must be true, but I still can&#8217;t believe it &#8212; even if I felt during the brief time I knew him that he was headed that way&#8230; Thomas&#8217;s poetry is so narrow &#8212; just a straight conduit between birth & death, I suppose&#8212;with not much space for living along the way.  In another letter to her friend Marianne Moore, Bishop further crystallized Thomas&#8217;s singular genius: I have been very saddened, as I suppose so many people have, by Dylan Thomas&#8217;s death&#8230; He had an amazing gift for a kind of naked communication that makes a lot of poetry look like translation. Dylan Thomas is that rare thing, a poet who has it in him to allow us, particularly those of us who are coming to poetry for the first time, to believe that poetry might not only be vital in itself but also of some value to us in our day-to-day lives. It&#8217;s no accident, surely, that Dylan Thomas&#8217;s &#8220;Do not go gentle into that good night&#8221; is a poem which is read at two out of every three funerals.  We respond to the sense in that poem, as in so many others, that the verse engine is so turbocharged and the fuel of such high octane that there&#8217;s a distinct likelihood of the equivalent of vertical liftoff. Dylan Thomas&#8217;s poems allow us to believe that we may be transported, and that belief is itself transporting."....  Story on Brain Pickings' webite   :)   https://www.brainpickings.org/2017/01/24/dylan-thomas-do-not-go-gentle-into-that-good-night/   

And, if you'll allow, a twig of poetree in reply   :)


The Convolution's BUT A Speck Of Dust Passing The Evolution's Eye

Are we not born by the power of another, grace, and that of our mother?
Is it not our solutioning with the Earth becoming more concentrated, 
The power of another, that realizes us becoming, potentially, you, me?
And when the rigors of youth are supposedly betrayed by the wisdom 
Of middle-age, are we not also more so for that, our doings not more real?
And when old age seemimgly takes our senses, not the sixth, our muscles, 
But ..., the sinew, our bones strength, but the marrow's, do we not still be
more so, alival instead of survival, outstretching an arm to lend a hand,
By the power of another, betwixt an Earth, Sky, with a Sun, a Universe?
And when we, "Do not go gentle into that good night, and rage, rage against 
The dying of the light" (Dylan Thomas), will we not, again, join in the Cosmos'
Eternal dance of the sphere's, it's cacaphony, symphony, by the power of another?


 Thanx for all you do and don't.  Have a great day.   reality

removed.-hknv

As I was reading this I was wondering if it was someone else taking her away or spiritual warfare enticing or even death. Very heartfelt and I was feeling for you as losing a loved one is so hard no matter what the reasons. Great poem and Lord bless you!

nancy-e-tracy

I really do like the way you write, the rhyme and rhythm are great check your spelling though (dought  s/b doubt)

sylvia-frances-chan

An excellent poem, amazing rhymes but the saddest is "Your hopes have become like a fading light." I have cited your last line.
I thought that hopes would be a brighter light....that is in the verb to HOPE and noun: hope.
A beautiful poem with sad undertones....
I have read this with great attention
I know that poems can heal wounds and sufferings
and I do hope this is such one
Thank you for sharing this beautiful 
but intriguing poem, Christopher, be sure this is an excellent poem, a thought-provoking one.

sarita-aditya-verma

removed.-vyvs

This poem hits the nail squarely on its head !! Excellent !!

geetha-jayakumar

Beautiful yet painful write. To be on others control is pathetic.

cadence-2

Wonderful writing!! An important piece....:))

don-bouchard

I have been on a couple of service trips with students in the past month, and I am realizing that a key escape from gloom and depression is to focus outward and to help others through hard work. When we are sweating to help others in more dire straits than we are, we suddenly rearrange priorities.... Life sweetens up.