There is a trick to the light: it flashes silver, like the blades you used
to make, like the circlets of polished metal around the ladies necks (how
they ignore you, as they come and go chattering of Michelangelo); hiding
and revising the faults and the years that will surely overcome you and I
(and no moment, alas will reverse) until all we have is starlight and
moonlight and the candlelight that comes in and flickers until all that is
left is shadow: a trick to the light.
Let us go then, you and I
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question...
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.
Among the crowded rows, there is no turning back to see if one is following
behind (she would be lost you know), or if you escape without notice;
straight ahead, you look to find the sea and cannot find the horizon (it is
hidden among the ripples of stars and the thunder of waves, and the gulls
dance with their reflections under the moonlight) -- you have gone beyond
the world, beyond the universe is disturbed.
And they are singing each to each.
Riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
Author's note/disclaimer:
Pirates of the Caribbean does not belong in anyway shape or form to me.
Neither does "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" which was published in
1917 by T.S. Eliot and therefore is public domain (meaning I can legally
abuse him).
to make, like the circlets of polished metal around the ladies necks (how
they ignore you, as they come and go chattering of Michelangelo); hiding
and revising the faults and the years that will surely overcome you and I
(and no moment, alas will reverse) until all we have is starlight and
moonlight and the candlelight that comes in and flickers until all that is
left is shadow: a trick to the light.
Let us go then, you and I
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question...
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.
Among the crowded rows, there is no turning back to see if one is following
behind (she would be lost you know), or if you escape without notice;
straight ahead, you look to find the sea and cannot find the horizon (it is
hidden among the ripples of stars and the thunder of waves, and the gulls
dance with their reflections under the moonlight) -- you have gone beyond
the world, beyond the universe is disturbed.
And they are singing each to each.
Riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
Author's note/disclaimer:
Pirates of the Caribbean does not belong in anyway shape or form to me.
Neither does "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" which was published in
1917 by T.S. Eliot and therefore is public domain (meaning I can legally
abuse him).