A world Worthwhile
A world Worthwhile stream of consciousness stories

koicchiato hufflepuff | poet and writer | queen
Autoplay OFF   •   10 months ago
A "stream of consciousness" style poem, Inspired by T.S Eliot's poem 'the love song of J. Alfred Prufrock...hope you enjoy!

A world Worthwhile

I am in a world worthwhile, I walk in strides, kicking water and sand,

And after toast and tea and tales, I rest settled on a pillow, awake all the more,

All while the midnight takes gentle rest, I am awake. And starry eyed wonder, I dare,

If for one night only I could give name to all the stars in the sky.

And in golden afternoons, when the sun falls to dream, With all childhood joy I will taste cake and cream,

Reverse all promise of future to stay in a heartbeat of bliss.

Just for one childhood.

I do not think of it yet, I'm still awake, But the thought comes to me in my waking hour,

But in my mind, besides the sea. And in whispers, bitters, velvet,

A thought comes to me.

How do I bring direction to a short life?

How can my decision change the world?

I cannot fight it, I grow old!

Dare I ignore time and all of it?

Pretend I know not, but I have known them all along.

Dare I plant a pumpkin patch? Next to it, lavender, rosemary, thyme,

But still it clings wayward, that fleeting magnificence,

What would become of me if I tossed it away?

Pursuing my passions, Unhappy! They insist.

Unhappy! Unhappy! Unhappy!

I am not there anymore, I am walking along a beach,

Contemplating Leonardo, Michelangelo, and Vincent's starry night.

I do not know whether I am young or old.

If I am young, where is the scrape of my palms?

Where is the dirt beneath my fingernails?

A marvelous wonder once played in my mind, at times imagination, And other times naivety.

Should I chase the birds along the sand? Try and catch them and feed them crab shells,

Or should I cry when I catch a fish?

I do not think anyone understands, anyone at all.

If I am old, then, should I walk barefoot in the sand?

Wear a hat on my head to shield my withering face?

Should I walk slow along the sand?

Fragile, with thinning hair bustling in the wind?

There will be a time when the sun sets over the waves, Golden sea foam crashing against the shore.

And I will stop chasing the seagulls, I will stop whispering to the starfish,

I will sit and watch, spitting pits from stone fruit under the crevices of the waves.

If I am growing old, I will close my eyes, alone when hear the ocean voices sing, and lull when I drown.

I walked along a beach once, somewhere far away. I dare not return, indulge in the simply beauty of it all.

I do not thing anyone understands, anyone at all.

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