Against Philip Larkin's Aubade

I do not fear, I'm sure I'll go gentle in
to that good night and the extinction that you
feared so much. I'll not regret the loss of
touch or sight or sound.
I'm sad now for the sadness left behind
but where'er I'm going, “I” will not mind.

On good days I am glad to be alive;
On bad ones I would just as soon be gone.
I fear the end and the end's beginning
but not the aftermath. On black dog days
it's only the Church and the conviction
that there is a proper time and season
that stops me jumping off the Orwell Bridge.

It's not that I believe “I” will survive,
that little me with all my woes will dance
in some Elysian field or gaze fondly
on a God that, while I've been here, has not
really given me the nod. Little “I” will
end, and will only linger in the minds
of those I've left behind, and even then,
not for very long. I go back to light
and freedom, to join the once and yet to
be, add fuel to the great heart of all
that is, and meet that which has kept me here;
I'm sure of this –
not horror and the void, but emptiness and bliss.

Before “I” was, I was not unhappy.
We each will have our Judgement and
Apocalypse,
our moment in the sun, and discover
if our race was lost or won. But it was
only a game and we have had to play
the hand we're dealt – no guilt, no shame, no blame;
the race is simply run and we are done.

Philip Larkin's Aubade