TAGGED BY: @unusuallygifted
T.S. ELIOT, “THE WASTELAND” PT. 2: A GAME OF CHESS: BOLD THE ONES THAT APPLY TO YOUR MUSE. REPOST. DON’T REBLOG.
A Game of Chess • A BURNISHED THRONE • GLOWED ON THE MARBLE • standards wrought with fruited vines • a golden Cupidon peeped out • (ANOTHER HID HIS EYES BEHIND HIS WING) • glitter of her jewels • vials of ivory and coloured glass • strange synthetic perfumes • TROUBLED, CONFUSED / AND DROWNED THE SENSE IN ODOURS • STIRRED BY THE AIR / THAT FRESHENED FROM THE WINDOW • Huge sea wood fed with copper • Burnished green and orange • framed by the coloured stone • YET THERE THE NIGHTINGALE / FILLED ALL THE DESERT WITH INVIOLABLE VOICE • And still she cried, and still the world pursues • withered stumps of time •Leaned out, leaning, hushing • Footsteps shuffled on the stair • her hair / Spread out in fiery points • GLOWED INTO WORDS, THEN WOULD BE SAVAGELY STILL. • My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me. • Speak to me. Why do you never speak? Speak. • WHAT ARE YOU THINKING OF? WHAT THINKING? WHAT? • I NEVER KNOW WHAT YOU ARE THINKING. THINK. • I think we are in rats’ alley• WHERE THE DEAD MEN LOST THEIR BONES. • “WHAT IS THAT NOISE?” • The wind under the door. • “What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?” • Nothing again nothing. • “Do / You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember / Nothing?” • “Are you alive. or not? Is there nothing in your head?” • “WHAT SHALL I DO NOW? WHAT SHALL I DO? • I SHALL RUSH OUT AS I AM, AND WALK THE STREET / WITH MY HAIR DOWN, SO. • Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door. • HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME • YOU OUGHT TO BE ASHAMED, I SAID, TO LOOK SO ANTIQUE.