The Undiscovered Country

[heslopian]

“Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovere'd country, from whose bourn
No traveler returns” – William Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act 3, scene 1

My head is propped on eiderdown,
my wasted hands folded like clasps
over a bosom now still.
I don't remember how I died.
I rarely think about it much.
Too lost in dreams is my rambling soul,
eternity's hushed cinema, where I am
the only patron. Not once in life
would I have believed the ecstasy of solitude,
as each moment, scraped knees, old wounds,
kisses, sex, illness and joy, flows through
my rotting flesh. Stringing fairy lights across
my ribs and silent jaw. I hope I never leave this shore.
That my energy, my soul, stays locked within
this varnished box, while those above, still suffering, mourn.

[critical mass]

Hespolian

Very nice piece.
Very haunting deliberate voice in this and you carried it all the way through which is even more impressive.

Stringing fairy lights across
my ribs and silent jaw. I hope I never leave this shore.

This is one of the most original lines I believe I have read.
Very nice.

scraped knees, old wounds,
kisses, sex, illness and joy,

I might pare these down a bit too vague for the voice in this piece for me.

Very well done

David

[heslopian]

Thank you for your kind words and feedback David (may I call you that?)

[billy]

“Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovere'd country, from whose bourn
No traveler returns” – William Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act 3, scene 1

it's quite pleasing to see this snippet in your poem as i used fardel in scrabble about two days ago


My head is propped on eiderdown,
my wasted hands folded like clasps
over a bosom now still.
I don't remember how I died.
I rarely think about it much.
Too lost in dreams is my rambling soul,
eternity's hushed cinema, where I am
the only patron. Not once in life
would I have believed the ecstasy of solitude,
as each moment, scraped knees, old wounds,
kisses, sex, illness and joy, flows through
my rotting flesh. Stringing fairy lights across
my ribs and silent jaw. I hope I never leave this shore.
That my energy, my soul, stays locked within
this varnished box, while those above, still suffering, mourn.

the quote and the syntax show it's a Shakespearian parody.
and quite a good one, i would have loved to have seen it in sonnet form which wouldn't take much of an edit.

i loved;
I don't remember how I died.
I rarely think about it much.
and also the last two lines.
lots of good stuff in here.

who would be a pack mule indeed
i normally hate intro's but this worked well.
as i say my only nits are meter and rhyme. for me it should be a sonnet.

that said the flow works well and i didn't hit any stumbling blocks as such.

thanks for the read jack.

[heslopian]

I don't think I meant this really as a parody of Shakespeare, though of course the epigraph did heavily influence the piece. It's what gave me the germ of the idea to write it. That said bashing this into a sonnet might be quite a fruitful exercise. When I feel on the top of my game I'll give it a go.
Thanks for the kind words and feedback Billy

[billy]

looking forward to it

and parody come homage (maybe parody was the wrong word, sorry jack. )