fourth entry: Act III

Ask me why the Bard squeezes his way into my thoughts during a reading of French literary criticism, and I’ll tell you that that is the question. Shakespeare has long been a favorite author of mine, so I consider it an honor when his inspiration moves me to jot down a few of my own lines. It’s nothing ground-shaking, but the poem’s development took some interesting turns after working it over.

 

Cowards of Conscience

 

If there are more things in heaven and earth

than this confident philosophy may dream,

we are perchance already sleeping.

Eyelids drawn over terrestrial contours

like night’s veneer

know nothing of verity,

only specters and notions.

Meanwhile, the undiscovered country

floats along in its sea of tranquility

and we might never learn

to hold our breath

and open our eyes.

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