Before the ghost my face was a bright morning;
Now one who looks at me must pass through mourning,
And so no one now wishes me good morning,
But pray in silence for an end to mourning.
She shrieked so many times one moody morning,
"You beckon me with your subconscious mourning."
The day she turned up—screaming—in the morning,
Since then my days are different shades of mourning.
No eyes who see me see another morning,
For who but me can swallow up such mourning.
A ghost is my alarm clock every morning;
I wake to witness shifting, spectral mourning.
She screams, no more, but waits at night for morning,
Then summons—at once—each drop of mourning.
Your second line is confusing. An onlooker would be so effected by the narrator's state that they themselves would be in mourning? Surely this is not true, it seems unbelievable. So, anyone who observes the narrator would have to gaze at the narrator's face so long that they would pass through the narrator's mourning. Either way the line seems awkwardly phrased.
If that line is confusing, then there is something in the poem that is not coming across vis-a-vis genre expectations. Thanks for taking the time to comment. Cheers!
Oh drats! I thought a made an edit to the first quatrain that did not actually make!
I have also added a title!
|All times are GMT -5. The time now is 11:17 PM.|
Powered by vBulletin® Version 3.7.4
Copyright ©2000 - 2022, Jelsoft Enterprises Ltd.