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Morphine
(13 December 1797 – 17 February 1856 / Dusseldorf)

Morphine

There’s a mirror likeness between the two
Bright, youthfully-shaped figures, though
One’s paler than the other and more austere,
I might even say more perfect, more distinguished,
Than the one who’d take me confidingly in his arms –
How soft then, loving, his smile, how blessed his glance!
Then it might well have been, that his wreath
Of white poppies touched my forehead, at times,
Drove the pain from my mind with its strange scent.
But all that’s transient. I can only, now, be well,
When the other one, so serious and pale,
The older brother, lowers his dark torch. –
Sleep is good: and Death is better, yet
Surely never to have been born is best.

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Comments (1)

Of white poppies touched my forehead, at times, Drove the pain from my mind with its strange scent.' morphine is a pain killer, the younger brother is life, the older brother is death, in pained old age sleep is good and eventually pain is better, if there is no salvation no God, then for some it would have been better not to be born; what choice does fate lay betwwen possibilities of a good or bad life?