Communication of ideas exchanged, a tale as old as time
birthed from the earth at the sound of the first symbolic phoneme
flung wild from tounge frozen spit slides down canvas air
static interception of perceiving conception
and so the word marries minds to meaning.
Remember Ulyses: vines of woven and spoken,
written and forgotten, seize the memory
with ashes and dust
in the calico tabby wool
of forested night.
The above was a device of procrastination, a free write. And now i really have to write for an english class dramatic monologue due tomorrow. My favorite dramatic monologue is the same song that inspired lyric from T.S. Eliot to Milton, all of whom hailed to Dante and Homer, a true tale as old as time. Time is erroneous for true tales. Within the embedded aforementioned poem lies lines that wake me up more startling than sunrise bemused:
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro’
Gleams that untravell’d world whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish’d, not to shine in use!
As tho’ to breathe were life! Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains; but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.