Writing a persephone's madness/masquerade

[Eclectic]

Since I can't post anything at home, I had to wait until I had some free time at school. Anyways, here's my two latest poems. The first is about the suicide of Lady Macbeth (sorry to anyone reading the play if you like her). The second is a rewrite of an early poem of mine by the same name. Enjoy.

[u]a persephone's madness[/u]

all that we've done
wash it all away
i said it would go away
that's exactly what i told him
the spot should be gone by now
why does it linger so?
the scrubbing at it
my skin was so raw
but there it is still
but, the smell
oh, the smell!
you can almost taste the stench!
not a single perfume can get rid of it
and the more scents and oils,
the more the odor amplifies itself!
but there is one way...
one sweet way...
i can use these sheets
or this candelabra
or even my own nails and teeth
anything to run from that horrid cologne on my hands!
should i wait for my husband?
surely, he must also hope for the delectible oblivion
but all the eau he has bathed himself since i gave him that fruit of death!
no, he won't want this
but it will be served to him
now to end this
to end this persphone's madness

[u]masquerade[/u]

i walk into the ballroom,
my bloodred dress swaying gracefully with the my hips.
a pure white mask covers my face,
hiding it like everyone else's.
i look through the thin slits and survey the picturesque scene:
the couples dancing gleefully;
the smiles on the masks;
the hidden truths that must be behind them.
everyone there has their own perfect match, it seems.
but i am left alone.
the crowds part like a miracle as the song ends.
fate must be with me this night.
for there you stood:
my prince,
my knight,
my love.
and wearing a mask of white as well.
we talked and danced the night away,
losing yourselves in the moment.
when night had gone and day was soon to come,
just as the last notes of the last song chimed,
like a bell ending a service,
you took my hand and looked deep into my eyes.
in that one moment,
i thought i loved you.
but something so precious can easily be stolen in an instant.
when you removed the mask of the purest white,
i saw only myself,
reflected continuously in your eyes.

[Lady Asphyxia]

[font=Verdana][size=1]I think the difference between these poems and other poems is that these ones border on Stream of Consciousness [Which is quite cool, itself, heh.] but never actually step over the line. It's like an inner narration, I suppose. [/size][/font]

[font=Verdana][size=1]The poems are quite good -- having never read Macbeth, I can't judge accuracy, but I have read [u]Wyrd Sisters[/u], by Terry Pratchett and it has much the same ideas as Macbeth, I believe. I like the reference to cologne as the stench of death, heh.[/size][/font]

[font=Verdana][size=1]And [u]Masquerade[/u] was very good, too. I think you could use the idea as a story, in fact, with a trippy ending that no one saw coming. Of course you'd inculde the poem in there somewhere, too. [/size][/font]

[font=Verdana][size=1]Anyway, good work. [/size][/font]

[Eclectic]

Thanks for the comments. I guess they are both a bit on the stream of consciousness side (you're about the fifth person to mention that to me), but a lot of my poems are. It could have something to do with mental stablity, but then again, many great artists/poets/musicians aren't quite sane. That's what make then great. Back to the point. When Lady Macbeth is giving her sleep walking semi-soliquoy, she mentions that "all the perfumes of Arabia" will never rid her of the stench of Duncan's blood. (Sorry again to anyone reading the play.) And masquerade could definitely work as story. But I have a few other things to finish for school before that happens. Here's another poem in need of comments. It might be a bit too inner narative and is probably much too personal, but I don't think anyone on OB knows me well enough to see much in this. Do you? Oh, I'll probably rewrite this if I get any free time and feel inspired.

[u]Sing My Sorrows, Burn My Candles[/u]

When the beautiful stars fall from the dark night sky,
will you catch them for me?
Or left them slip through your fingers,
like the sands of the desert?

When the glowing ashes leap from the wide mouth of the volcano,
will you let them burn my flesh?
Or protect me and burn,
let the tears fall from my eyes?

"Never never wanted this/Always wanted to believe/Never never wanted this"

Be it the crying stars or the angry ashes,
will you be there for me?
Or so very far away,
let what may happen be?

My wounds will tell you my story.
My scars will sing their laments.
My eyes will play a moving picture.
My mouth will remain silent as always.

"Never never wanted this/From the start, I'd been decieved/Never never wanted this"

Let the wounds continue.
Let the scars chorus.
Let the eyes finish.
Let the mouth stay.

The tales never end.
The songs never cease.
The credits never roll.
The closing never opens.

O! Stars! Sing my sorrows!
O! Ashes! Burn my candles!