The streets present their fables in decay,
a trawl between the dusk and shadowed dawn;
the arching shadows, dreams and whispers stray
a crossfire of desires to shape what's gone.
A signature, graffittied, states a claim,
a moment or the echo of its form -
a hollowed sound condensed into a name,
a page whereon our vanities might swarm.
And yet a moments grace is all we own,
a whisper in the genome of the hour,
a fragment of the universe is sown
where ego would the universe devour.
Such fragile dreams, and yet what beauty's found
between brief birth and death's uncertain shroud.
Author notes
We are such stuff
As dreams are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.
The Tempest Act 4, scene 1
i do have a tendency to play with sonnets but rarely set out with a spcific variant in mind. shakespearian. well i would't claim that but it's in that format i suppose.
A contest entry
- Shakespeare Inspired by Aerlynne.
475 points, ended June 2, 2008, 7 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 9 of 9
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This is certainly a prime example of a Shakepearean sonnet, with the slight exception of the slant rhyme in the final couplet (but, I'm sure if we look through Shakespeare's sonnet, there would be a some that had slant rhymes...), and whereas most people might count that against you, I think it enhances the couplet. Throughout the rest of your poem, the rhymes are perfect, until you get to found/shroud, and that makes it stick out, and it holds the most potent message.
Thank you for entering!
~ Kit -
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thanks very much for the comments. am glad that the final couplet worked, i did think that it was pushing the rhyme out a little far but it just felt like the right wording for the meaning i wanted. but thanks again and also thanks for holding the contest.
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Such fragile dreams, and yet what beauty's found
between brief birth and death's uncertain shroud.
Stunning write. I love the soft ethereal feel of the poem, as though you were a shadow drifting through empty streets in the early hours of morning, just observing. Only thing I might consider changing is the line;
where ego would the universe devour
to
where ego the universe would devour
just to keep up a flow and a certain sense of iambic rhythm to the words.
And also, instead of 'and yet' in the third stanza, maybe try inserting 'but' and see how you like it. It feels for me as though it might help to maintain the walking feeling that flows through the piece.
Congrats on a beautiful write!
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can see a point in changing the word order but your suggestion would break the rhythm. and think that the change would cost too much. too certain, think and yet allows for a slight tinge of melancholy which would be lost, but thanks for comments.
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Very good ...
but I'd suggest that death's shroud is definitely not uncertain. Au contraire.
Otherwise, you've done a very good job with this.
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i think the certainty of death is uncertain. there's no proof that anything awaits and no proof that this is fact. the body alone remains, all else is uncertain. it may be the end or it may not.
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Apples and oranges. ;)
You're tallking about something different than what you said. You said "death's shroud is uncertain", but in reality death is absolutely certain. What you are talking about is what happens after and that has nothing to do with the certainty of death. That's in the realm of philosophy, and there is, indeed, no certainty of what happens "after death". -
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i disagree. obviously;-) i think that the final couplet is necessarily viewed as philosophical. i suppose that i think of death itself as only a shroud to cover the body at which point there are no maps only philosophies to follow and that, within them, disagreements abound. so from my point i see only uncertainties. this entwines itself into the question as to what makes a person unique and human and, for me, the body is not the major part of this.
so i agree with you that the body dies, that much is certain but, what the shroud contains is necessarily uncertain and that is the point of the line.
and i suppose that part of the beauty of poetry is that your view is as valid as mine only different and that we appear to read that line and, therefore, the meaning of the poem differently. -
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Yes. I see your point ...
but I think the most cogent thing about it is that we can both have different interpretations without fussing like schoolchildren.
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