Thomas Disch's LJ (RSS Feed)
01-21-2008, 03:41 PM
Hell hath a special light
visible even to those plucked blind
each day as part of their regular ordeal.
No light could be more transcendingly
lovely--just one more
of death's little ironies.
Hell is full of them. Light
in itself is not lovely,
of course, only what it reveals--
the smoke billowing from the great
foundaries and power stations
along the shore--dark at first,
then as it dissipates high up,
aglow with all the shades
of a box of crayons from Revlon.
Or a brick wall bright with the blood
of recent executions. Oil slicks
in the heaving sludge of Rotterdam's harbors.
Hell's dawns fade like dawns elsewhere,
but while they last you just have to
lie there in your chains and stare.
(Original Post) (http://tomsdisch.livejournal.com/171183.html)
visible even to those plucked blind
each day as part of their regular ordeal.
No light could be more transcendingly
lovely--just one more
of death's little ironies.
Hell is full of them. Light
in itself is not lovely,
of course, only what it reveals--
the smoke billowing from the great
foundaries and power stations
along the shore--dark at first,
then as it dissipates high up,
aglow with all the shades
of a box of crayons from Revlon.
Or a brick wall bright with the blood
of recent executions. Oil slicks
in the heaving sludge of Rotterdam's harbors.
Hell's dawns fade like dawns elsewhere,
but while they last you just have to
lie there in your chains and stare.
(Original Post) (http://tomsdisch.livejournal.com/171183.html)