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.
It was quiet. No, it wasn't, but he couldn't hear a thing. The silence was pounding in his head. He could see that people were crying, why were they crying? Sobs came through a great distance to him. He could blame his bad hearing on the fact that he only had one ear, but no. Deep inside, he probably knew.
Which is why he shouldn't have been shocked when he saw his dead twin brother on the floor.
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.
Now tears were streaming down his face too, he gasped for air to be able to scream, but there were none. People in the room were quiet, doing their own stuff; couldn't they see that he had lost what was most important to him?
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 forever; I was wrong.
How could he possibly live on? He had lost his best friend, brother, companion through life, the one who finished off his sentences, the one who didn't need to ask to know what's wrong, his twin brother.
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.
Everything was dark, so dark. No light would ever disturb his slumber nor his crying. He promised that he'd never laugh again, never smile. He banished himself from doing things that would have been fun, he punished himself for not being there to save his brother.
No laughs, no smiles. It wouldn't do any good.
The poem (italic style) is written by W. H. Auden in 1936. It's called Funeral Blues, which is why I decided to call the fanfic so.