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Passions in Poetry

My Hamlet (a story in verse) (Part I of II)

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Master
Senior Member
since 08-18-99
Posts 1880
Boston, MA


0 posted 03-02-2000 11:50 PM       View Profile for Master   Email Master   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to Submit your Poem to Passions   Click to visit Master's Home Page   View IP for Master

I

The pen would tremble in my hand
The fervent ink would flow in prime,
To start the story with no end--
An ageless tale told in rhyme.
The ever-young and graceful Hamlet,
Preserved in ink, upon a tablet,
Shall never fade nor ever rust.
A poet’s breath shall sweep the dust
And make anew what was forgotten.
Which shall return like any season.
Restoring life in words of reason,
It will complete what was begotten
And preaching loudly from the page,
It will awake the silent age.

II

Thus we begin, let’s take a glimpse,
Somewhere in Denmark, long ago--
Young Hamlet lived inside his dreams,
And trusted visions that he saw.
The throne was his and so was glory
And this he knew. Without a worry,
He eagerly looked to that day
When he’d be king. The prince was gay
Just knowing that he had control.
He placed himself above his friends,
The world was lying in his hands--
In every game they played. His soul
Was branded thus by destined fate.
The role was his and Hamlet played!

III

He mimicked time upon his face,
He craved adventure, hungered trouble--
Just like the rest, despised disgrace
And fell in love, for it was common.
He loved to hunt, enjoyed the thrill,
Always the first to get the kill,
With passion, lacking guilt and shame,
He finished off the wounded game
And feasted on the bleeding beast.
Was always proud of his feat,
All dinner bragged about his deed,
About his strength, and was not pleased—
Never received full satisfaction--
Until he’d get a kind reaction.

IV

His love was rare and so unique
That many viewed it as deceiving.
Effected to affection’s peak,
He freely spoke about his feelings.
Ophelia, he loved you dearly!
At night he dreamt of you. Sincerely,
He wrote to you about his love, --
You never trusted him enough
And doubting his faultless will,
Mislead your heart. Your heart--
Not fooled, knew from the start
That he was pure. He loved you still!
Demanding strongly, Hamlet yearned
To have you love him in return.

V

Then, sorrow struck him with a blow--
So suddenly, old Hamlet died
Our Prince, -- he buried sadness slow
And by the tomb he moaned and cried.
Sad hours dragged. Clock’s heavy hands
Would close the casket, tie loose ends
And bury pain. Yet grief remained,
And moved by feelings that he gained.
Our hero lost all sleep. No longer
Were his dreams as bright and clear.
Yet, since that moment, not a tear
He shed, but grew much stronger.
His weary face showed no remorse,
The world was falling on its course.

VI

The sun was shinning and the weather
Was pleasant and the grass was growing.
And all was living—all that mattered!
And all was blossoming, not knowing
That such a tragedy took place.
The children’s eyes sincerely gazed
As flowers bloomed and all seemed just!
The world was moving as it must.
And Hamlet picked up by this spirit
Thought not about his father’s death
All was alive and nature’s breath
Blew on his face and he would hear it.
And bringing Hamlet back to life
The nature with excitement thrived.

VII

Abruptly, calmness turned to rage--
Prince Hamlet read the wicked notice,
The Queen, his mother, was engaged
To shortly marry Uncle Claudus.
Too sudden! -- Not a month yet passed
Since king deceased, and she would cast
Her sight upon another man. A curse
Indeed, for such a deed is worse
Than mortal sin and for our Prince
The past would slowly come to vanish.
He felt abandoned, sunk in anguish.
And cursed his fate. And ever since
His father’s death, could not be reached--
He lost his touch and lacked his speech.

VIII

While held imprisoned in his castle,
Watched closely by the hungry eyes--
He searched for truth, and in that hassle,
He found nothing but disguise.
Pure vengeance grew in Hamlet’s heart
He, with this notion could not part,
But stood against it. All was blurry!
Some say-- he left his nest too early,
And others-- that he had no nest.
To helplessly see dreams grow molded,
Or be delighted blindfolded? --
Who is to judge what is the best?
Thus Hamlet watched all he adored
Become offensive and abhorred.

IX

One night, his lengthy contemplation
Was shortened greatly by his servants.
The words they spoke aroused sensations
And gave his will a whole new purpose.
He followed them and he was stunned! --
Appeared a phantom and a bond
Was formed. The sun would rise,
And melt the vision in his eyes
And all was still before his sight.
And all was quiet, all was calm.
Just like the sky before the storm,
All seemed so trite, but in that night
Eternally, three fates have crossed--
The son, the father and the ghost.

X

Their will was simple: to avenge--
Bring Justice forth to do her part!
Our Hamlet, yearned to get revenge,
And yet remain true in his heart.
But, was he sure of his assumption?
He re-examined his presumption
And found no alibi, no cause.
Did he believe his father’s ghost?
Was it the Devil? Who could know?
These questions, yet to be contested,
Remained a burden and unanswered
Would stress our hero more and more.
A plot was plotted for pure eyes
To catch the killer by surprise.

XI

He asked himself in deep depression,
“To be or not?” and in his voice,
He sought the answer. In confession
He realized -- he had no choice.
“To be... but how?” he’d often ponder
But found no answer in his wonder
Other that “be.” In contemplation,
He’d seek a godly revelation,
But nothing came. Enslaved in grief,
He dreamt that all was quite well
And yet he couldn’t brake the spell
Which filled his thoughts. And brief
Were nights, long were the days,
Which he would spend in search of space.

XII

As long as conscience plays her role,
You are alive, my cherished reader, --
If nothing can disturb your soul,
Then you’ve deceased and neither
Love nor breath can bring you back.
You’re always judged by what you lack,
Not what you have. Don’t waste
A single breath in rapid haste,
But drink love’s potion-- magic brew,
And breathe to love and strive to live,
To sense the pain, to feel the grief--
This above all: to self be true!
Enough of morals! I’m excited--
A play is staged and we’re invited!

© Copyright 2000 Andrey Kneller - All Rights Reserved
Denise
Moderator
Member Seraphic
since 08-22-99
Posts 23002


1 posted 03-03-2000 12:21 AM       View Profile for Denise   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Denise

Excellent verse it is, too, Master! Well done again!! How do you do it?  

Denise
Master
Senior Member
since 08-18-99
Posts 1880
Boston, MA


2 posted 03-03-2000 03:58 PM       View Profile for Master   Email Master   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Master's Home Page   View IP for Master

I was working the whole week on this one! And it will probably take another couple of months before I'm totally satisfied with it.
 
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