This poem pretty much nails it for me, what it is…this missing-ness.
I wonder if this…the feelings conveyed in the poem, ever really go away.
Will there be a time when I don’t feel this weight? Will I ever feel joyous again? Will I ever have any sense of who I am again?
Because for 24 years I felt these things and I loved who I was. So, I wonder…will I ever have a sense of self again, a sense of my place in this world?
I don’t pretend to know. All I do know is that, tonight, this poem by W. H. Auden, expresses what I want to say to the world at large, even into my 3rd year. Chuck was, indeed, my north, my south, my east and west…
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever:
I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now:
put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.