Poem

Question

Please don't die
You should fight it, not give in
Keep fighting

Although we know we all have to die
And we are weaker than the eternal forces of nature
Please fight anyway

Even good men feel regret
And wish they could have achieved more in life
And get angry about dying

We play through our life living to the fullest
Learning too late that it goes quickly
So please fight death

Only when we get old do we realise the true value of life
And near the end we value every minute and take joy in the small moments
Get angry about dying; fight it.

And you God, in heaven
Don't leave me now as I face death
Fight death everyone
Hold on to every last second of life

Mister Micawber · Accepted Answer

Yours is a common topic of verse, but it is not really poetry: without form or rhyme or rhythm or meter, it is simply prose broken into irregular lines:

Please don't die. You should fight it, not give in. Keep fighting. Although we know we all have to die, and we are weaker than the eternal forces of nature, please fight anyway. Even good men feel regret, and wish they could have achieved more in life, and get angry about dying. We play through our life living to the fullest, learning too late that it goes quickly. So please fight death. Only when we get old do we realise the true value of life, and near the end we value every minute and take joy in the small moments. Get angry about dying; fight it. And you ***, in heaven, don't leave me now as I face death. Fight death everyone. Hold on to every last second of life.

Have you met this poet?—

Do not go gentle into that good night
Dylan Thomas, 1914 - 1953

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Anonymous · Answer

How old could the persona be?

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