The Wake Poem by Angiuli Aguiar

Fear the silent bell. I've grown pale and weak
From its voiceless swell that tolls in my mind
Calling to wake, calling to wake. It's bleak
To walk by a motionless ocean and find
No kind wind to gently wave its way unheard.
I've grown tired of thinking and disbelief.
The bell hasn't tolled, and neither a word
Have I told him. But, although our talk brief
Can be, much I've learned to fear to see
And much I've feared seeing what I've seen
There's nothing in the world I wish to be.
There's no beauty in being what I've been.
Perhaps to be a bird, who sings at night,
When Death is asleep, and is an uncertain
Dream for those woken by his unseen flight,
Or perhaps the wind, to wave the curtain
Of the sea, to blow the leaves away,
To once more toll the steady bell to call
My soul, and to lead it on its own way
To wake, to wake: it's my own funeral.