BlazerBoy
New member
I am planning a short story based on a poem my girlfriend wrote. It reads:
I once knew a girl who darkly said
Loneliness is a thunderhead, hiding the sun
And she was tattooed pale.
‘Why,’ I asked, ‘Are you lonely so?’
Because there are none who know my name.
‘Tell it to me and as a treasure I’ll keep it.’
She whispered in my ear, and I whispered it back
To be sure I made no mistake in its beauty.
Her first smile, an eclipse of her deepest delight
As the years saw me sing out her name.
I once knew a boy who softly said
Sorrow is a flooded river untamed
And his eyes were eerily red.
‘Why,’ I asked, ‘Are you so sorrowful?’
Because there are none who will hear my tale.
‘Speak to me, ‘til my ears are made drunk.’
And he spoke of his life with a lover’s affection,
Every plight, every fitful affliction of joy
And my hand cramped while he dictated his story
As volumes upon volumes we filled.
I wandered for years with a name on my tongue
And a library of life in my brain.
For decades and scores and centuries I walked
‘Til neither life nor name were my own.
With my last withering sigh I murmured in scorn
‘How kind it would have been, had another stopped
and thought to do the same for me…’ And upon
my breast lay, open, tattered, a volume of dictation,
In my hand a small paper, faded, scrawled with a name.
This prose struck a deep chord with me, because it bears a passing resemblence to another of my absolute favorite poems, Ozymandius by Percy Shelley. I wanted to flesh this out into a short story, giving a bit more depth to the underlying feelings that both the girl and boy felt. However, I've been wrestling with if its even possible, or if it will simply dilute what I think is already a very beautifully constructed poem.
Open to suggestions and thoughts.
I once knew a girl who darkly said
Loneliness is a thunderhead, hiding the sun
And she was tattooed pale.
‘Why,’ I asked, ‘Are you lonely so?’
Because there are none who know my name.
‘Tell it to me and as a treasure I’ll keep it.’
She whispered in my ear, and I whispered it back
To be sure I made no mistake in its beauty.
Her first smile, an eclipse of her deepest delight
As the years saw me sing out her name.
I once knew a boy who softly said
Sorrow is a flooded river untamed
And his eyes were eerily red.
‘Why,’ I asked, ‘Are you so sorrowful?’
Because there are none who will hear my tale.
‘Speak to me, ‘til my ears are made drunk.’
And he spoke of his life with a lover’s affection,
Every plight, every fitful affliction of joy
And my hand cramped while he dictated his story
As volumes upon volumes we filled.
I wandered for years with a name on my tongue
And a library of life in my brain.
For decades and scores and centuries I walked
‘Til neither life nor name were my own.
With my last withering sigh I murmured in scorn
‘How kind it would have been, had another stopped
and thought to do the same for me…’ And upon
my breast lay, open, tattered, a volume of dictation,
In my hand a small paper, faded, scrawled with a name.
This prose struck a deep chord with me, because it bears a passing resemblence to another of my absolute favorite poems, Ozymandius by Percy Shelley. I wanted to flesh this out into a short story, giving a bit more depth to the underlying feelings that both the girl and boy felt. However, I've been wrestling with if its even possible, or if it will simply dilute what I think is already a very beautifully constructed poem.
Open to suggestions and thoughts.
