George Noel Gordon Byron

George Noel Gordon Byron

December 27th, 1823

No more shadows

The stars, they shine so bright and with such an untainted beauty, even against such an immense dark void. They are so beautiful, and with an innocence pure enough not to be swallowed by the darkness, only out-shone by a stronger light. Their beauty like their war against the darkness, is so fleeting and then so timeless. I wonder why they disappear every sunrise, perhaps it’s their modesty, and they choose to honour the greater light with the glory it deserves. The stars, they force me to ponder. Those tiny little lights put up a greater battle against the darkness than I could ever dream . My aptitude to succumb to the alluring self indulgences of said darkness makes me sick. I plan to change.

In thirty-six years I haven’t accomplished enough to classify my existence as a life of substance. From the twenty-second of January, seventeen eighty-eight, until now all I have left behind that others might remember is words scribbled amongst a pages, and marriages that yielded to the darkness and were forever lost. The only glimmer of light for me in this dark void would be my daughters, Augusta and Allegra. Allegra has passed on just last year, the memory of her gentle soul and the knowledge that Augusta is safe and well gives me guidance. They are the lights along my path to redemption.

It is almost sunrise, another day closer to potentially achieving something to compensate for my sins, closer to lighting myself in the eyes of those who see me in darkness. I know all the wrongs I have done by my family, friends and lovers will never be erased. I only wish for them to see me differently. Hopefully they will see I have changed, that I am a man of good intentions. I intend to illuminate the darkness I have made. I do not want to be remembered only for my poor decisions. I hope to be remembered for something excellent, not my poems, but my exploits. Not my escapades of the shadows, they are the past. I hope to shine a light on my future ventures. '

I have thought long and hard and it is quite possible that my next exploit will be my last (although it is with purer intentions than those of my past). Oddly enough I am not afraid of the end. I have lost my family, and my dearest friend Shelley. I look forward to joining them. I am not a religious man. But I do believe that if we are not here, then we are together. Even if there is nothing after this life we will be joined in the memories of others. I quiver with excitement at the idea of leaving this life after I have given it purpose and honour!

I am in the process of another poem, as of yet I only have two stanzas. I believe they will be the final two of the poem “On This Day I Complete My Thirty-Sixth Year”

“If thou regret'st thy youth, why live?
The land of honourable death
Is here:—up to the field, and give
Away thy breath!

Seek out—less often sought than found—
A soldier's grave, for thee the best;
Then look around, and choose thy ground,
And take thy rest.”

I regret my past, but I rejoice for the chances in my future. I do not intend to die in the fight, but I also don’t deny that it is likely. I do not fear the end if it’s the honourable death of a soldier of the light! My death to fulfil my life! I await you. I will not hide from you I will come at you! I will embrace you! You will give me my light.

This is a warning to the darkness.

This is a promise to the light.

Sincerely, Byron