Suddenly Gone: Song to Cello and Piano


Song to Cello and Piano

Ah, love so bittersweet where are
you now I see your face no more?
Once so near and now so far,
no more your footstep by my door.

Never again’s the only song,
best to sing no song at all!
Nothing’ll ever right this wrong—
all things rise, and rising, fall.

Out of nothing here we come
into nothing here we go
eyes see naught and lips are dumb
and there’s nothing left to know.

— 21 August 2018

VIDEO  :  3.58 mins

Lasha Darkmoon

Dr Lasha Darkmoon (b.1978) is an Anglo-American ex-academic with higher degrees in Classics whose political articles and poems have been translated into several languages. Most of her political essays can be found at The Occidental Observer and The TruthSeeker. Her own website,, is now within the top 1 percent of websites in the world according to the Alexa ranking system.

4 thoughts to “Suddenly Gone: Song to Cello and Piano”

  1. In the sadness of the song lies exquisite irony. For what’s inspired by a wrong conveys its poignant beauty.

    How absurd this harsh reality. How beautiful the truth which transcends it

  2. [ He ] who maketh his sun to rise upon the good, and bad…” [ Matthew 5:45 ]

    In the same vein, Sun “GOD” Daddy rises every morning over the tombs and graves as Sun “GOD” daddy rises over the maternity wards, so dying is like being born, something like that, lol. It’s funny how Helios who LERV The Sun and LERV Sunlight are so obesessed with darkness. One would think they would be focused on The SUN LIGHT they LERV WORSHIP AND ADORE but NO, they focus on darkness all the time.

    Sun “GOD” daddy also rises every morning over the ashes of cremated dead corpses [ that get thrown all over the place, from mountaintops, from boats out in the lakes and oceans and rivers, lol, the fish LERV cremated human dead bodies, perfect fish food, *grin*, and perfect food for the birds on the mountaintops, lol, I wonder how many cremated human ashes wind up in the sewers, lol. The there are the dead human body cremated ashes that wind-up on the ground after being thrown and scattered from hilltops and mountaintops and then the squirrels and racoons and bears and all the other animals piss on and take shits on the ashes, lol. Then there are those cremataed dead human body ashes in urns on fireplace mantles. What happens to the urns full of cremated dead human body ashes after the keepers of the urns die? Do the urns full of cremated human dead body ashes get passed down from generation to generation, like family heirlooms? What if there is no one to bequeath the urns to? Do they wind up getting sold at Estate Sales, wind up in the garbage can and go to the garbage dump, lol …. What happens if someone drops an urn full of cremated dead human body ashes while dusting the fireplace mantle and accidentally drops the urn full of cremated dead human body ashes and the urn winds up on the floor in pieces and the ashes of the LERVED ONE is all over the living room carpet [ or hardwood floor if the keeper of The Urn doesn’t like carpeting but thinks hardwood floors is mo’ sophisticated and mo’ fashionable and mo’ with-it, sheeple-poeple are into carpeting, WE are mo’ trendy than that thank you very much ]? Do they try to salvage each and every dead human body cremated ash particle? What if they miss some ash particles here and there and the ashes wind-up getting vacuumed-up into the vacuum cleaner?

    The above Biblical quote I start off this post with is from The Catholic Douay-Rheims Bible :

    Mea Culpa in advance if I have offended any “Catholic” Darkmooner’s “‘Catholic’ ‘religious’ ‘spiritual’ sensibilities” by turning to The Catholic Douay-Rheims Bible and NOT turning to the protestants’ King James Bible. Just add another 10 years or so to my lifetime Spamblinka prison sentence, uncle, that will be my penance for having offended thee.

    ADMIN TOBY: I happen to own an old copy of the Douay-Rheims Bible, bound in black leather, dated 1890. It’s on my desk right now. It is a remarkably good, almost literal translation of the Vulgate Latin Bible of St Jerome. However, it cannot be equalled for sheer beauty of language by the King James (or Authorised) Version. This is why many good Catholics prefer the King James version. That is not, far as I know, a sin! 🙂

  3. Our longing for immortality inspires such ditties as this lovely poem by Lasha. In everything, we seek a perfect model – only to be saddened that it cannot last. “…all things rise, and rising, fall” the poet writes here. We strive to achieve optimum health, but die, anyway. We work ourselves silly to breed fine racehorses, but they reach their peak at three or so years, and begin to fade. We build fine highways and bridges, but they inevitably begin to crumble. Good machinery wears out. Etc.
    The only thing that lasts is our longing and our sadness for what was, or might have been. Considering such, some poetry is timeless. Such is the character of this piece by Lasha. I like it.

  4. The Last Bus Out

    While en-route to this planet, I took a wrong turn. As I got off the cosmic bus, I immediately realized my mistake. Exiting the womb gateway, my only thought was this is a mistake, I should never have come here. It must have been somewhere around the Pleiadian star system where I took a wrong turn to wind up here in this hellish place to dwell with those desiring its illusory delights.

    Once again, I have spent another lifetime patiently waiting at this dingy, dirty bus stop for the soul, to catch the next bus out. I sit in the crowded confines and watch the flies feed on the carrion left behind after the vultures finish off the living dead wandering aimlessly through life’s bus station. I watch the thieves and pickpockets rob waiting passengers of every last vestige of honor and dignity. I watch children crying terribly before growing mute with the knowledge they have had their future stolen as well. Empty eyes, empty souls. The vision of those enduring this hell tortures me endlessly. Someone once told me a guy named Dante wrote a book about hell, but I don’t think he really covered the whole picture.

    More than once, I have seen a bus pull into the station, only to see its destination sign flip to “out of service” as it roared off without stopping, leaving behind a plume of black, greasy, smoke as the stationmaster, with sardonic grin, looked on with soulless eyes. Dejectedly, I returned to the filthy, degenerate confines to await a bus out, but to date, none have arrived.

    At first, I figured the only way out was to play in the bus lanes in hopes of stopping a speeding bus, but later realized others that had done so climbed aboard only to travel around the block to once again exit at this hellish bus station called earth.

    Then one day I tripped over a crazed Sterno bum laying in the gutter drinking Buster Brown shoe polish strained through Wonder Bread. Looking up at me with bloodshot eyes, he said with blackened breath, “Ya’ gotta’ know the routes. Ya’ gotta’ get a map so you know the routes. Those not knowing the routes are at the mercy of bus drivers who favor this drop-off point. Know the routes, know the way out.

    At first, I thought, too much shoe polish, too much Wonder Bread, but in time I thought, “what have I got to lose – or what might be gained?”

    And so I began searching for a map, a cosmic map, with a route away from this small ball of dirty greed, this black-comic version of hell.

    In time, I found one. There was a large red “X” indicating my universal location. Printed on the map were the words, “YOU ARE HERE, because you want to be here. You want what this place has to offer. As long as you desire this, bus drivers will bring you here.”

    Ah Ha! I thought; this is the secret other travelers learned before me. They no doubt had a map.

    I began reflecting on my desires in this life and understood what brought me here. The only solution for a permanent departure is to shed one’s desires for earth’s illusory material gain, excess baggage that must be left behind anyway when one boards the cosmic bus.

    Next stop? I don’t know where, but most assuredly it won’t be earth again because there is nothing here I desire. My only remaining desire is a one-way ticket out of this hellish bus stop.

    So I wait for the next bus out of this dirty, dingy, grubby, greedy bus station called earth, but this time it will be different, this time when my bus arrives, I will be climbing aboard the last bus out.

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