Prufrock Rides Again

[steelcreed]

Prufrock Rides Again

"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."
- T. S. Eliot, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"

Here we are again. We find
The evening beckons, cold and bright
With all the promises of the night.
Do not ask "Where", but follow in your meekness
For questioning but brings another trouble,
And undiscloses your potential weakness.
The streets care not for those who wonder,
Worry, that their halo shall be tarnished
For tarnished it will be
You will see
We bring ourselves around the next dark alley
To add ourselves once more to His dark tally.

Does this place seem all too friendly?
Does it gnaw, like half recalled regret
Or incidents that we shall soon forget?
It is like every other,
Every other den of ill repute
That holds astute its flashing lights of pride.
Then let us wander straight inside.

No, I've not had enough.
I know when I have had enough.

Does the drink seem all too apt?
Does it drown the voices from the floor?
Does it hold the half-brained audience rapt
And paint its weary smell upon the door?
The glasses fill and empty, fill again
And muttered words of thanks escape the hand.
The liquid downs, it scalds the throat with sand
Then quickly numbs the memory of pain.

No, I've not had enough.
I know when I have had enough.

We stumble, skip and hobble to the floor
A crowd of ancient bones in wandering procession
Stumble to the rhythm, the beat in our possession.
Or so we think, for when all things are said
Is not the music in possession of your head?
What minds for those who dance in skin-tight jeans
And opened collared shirts wreathed in sweat
and doused by hormones floundering in brine.
Can we say what is yours and what is mine?
We could, but I forget the means
To explain or demonstrate my dreams.

No, I've not had enough.
I know when I've had enough.

I am a stranger, lost within the crowd
Of writhing grubs, I have not quit my station.
I look to those with low cut tops and wonder
What to say, how not to tear
The moment straight asunder.
Instead, I crawl inside my shell and simper
How things might be, and in my elation
I think myself successful, hold myself taller
Despite the fact I am a bottom crawler.

If I could have one wish, I would take
The night and mould it, give it hands to guide
The drunkards back inside.

Time should still, know its place, remain
But a term for what we do not comprehend.
Instead, I feel like all the years have passed
On a pinhead. "I do not mean to offend,
But are you insane. Why dance? What does it solve
Beyond the traditional dawn awaking
Upon a mind with thoughts of glass breaking?"
But do not listen, the lights and drink are present
And the music still rings pleasant.

Let me wander by the moon
And take the streets within a conquering stride.
Oh, do not send me back inside.
No flesh for me, no promise of delight.
I always was a creature of the night
And always shall be.
The dark welcomes without prejudice.
What else could make life better
Than this?

I am no Plato, no hermit king.
Not wise in ways of meaning, just a man
Who holds the door, tip him if you can.
He wants for nothing more.

Be still now, let those quibbling voices calm
And return, once more, to that lonely crowded place
Where we shall revel in oblivion's embrace.

[steelcreed]

Really guys? Nothing?

[Luwano]

At 11/22/10 05:42 PM, steelcreed wrote: Really guys? Nothing?

The writing forum can be a forsaken place from time to time, so don't worry.

I really like your work here. It transfers a feeling of loneliness even though it describes crowded places, parties and so on.

Can't really say much more than it's very good.

I honestly think this could work as pretty good lyrics for a rock ballad. Maybe with some minor tweaks here and there to have proper verses, chorus and bridge but I'm not sure if that's absolutely necessary.

That's also what I thought first when I read the thread title.