I think this stage is haunted
This stage
Of our lives where we often
Stand watching our own performance
Imagining that others do, as well
I am I swear music, I live it in my blood
But my blood and my hands don’t
Swear anything at the same time
But there are ghosts
Of the spirit of the time I believed
I could create what people
Would listen enraptured to –
But no one listens —
I think this stage is haunted
.
.
.
(I got a “C” on this poem when I turned it in for my College creative writing course. In the interest of fairness to my professor, below is the poem as it was then, prior to my editing it today; you can see I edit these old pieces extensively. I am trying by the editing process to recreate the feeling I meant for the poem to convey. – Owen)
.
.
.
I think this stage is haunted,
This stage here of our lives;
I stand watching my own performance,
And might just break out in hives.
I imagine others here, with
Knowing music is in my blood;
I am (I swear) the music, but
It isn’t very good.
The ghosts are still around, of back
When I thought all this very dear:
I swear this stage is haunted,
When there is just nobody here.
To share is human:
I like the rework. The flow is better and the visual plays very nicely. The old poem is pretty good too, reminds me of some of Tom’s work over at Balderdash to Epiphany.
That is wild, because I had the same thought rereading it.
I like both versions, and am leaning heavily toward the first. I’d have given that one an overall A, not least of all for its varied emotions!
If only you’d been my professor…
Ah, but if it had gotten an A, you’d never have gone back to it to see what a sweet kid is Owen.
The re write has a lovely rhythm. But when do we get to hear the pianist.
I love them both!