Sonnet 76
Why is my verse so barren of new pride, So far from variation or quick change? Why with the time do I not glance aside To new-found methods and to compounds strange? Why write I still all one, ever the same, And keep invention in a noted weed, That every word doth almost tell my name, Showing their birth and where they did proceed? O, know, sweet love, I always write of you, And you and love are still my argument; So all my best is dressing old words new, Spending again what is already spent. For as the sun is daily new and old, So is my love, still telling what is old. -- William Shakespeare
The poet poses the question of why his poetry never changes but keeps repeating the same language and technique. The answer, he says, is that his theme never changes; he always write of the beloved and of love. [Folger Shakespeare Library]
I borrowed that book at our school's library because of my obssession in poetry and in my desperation to have it in my hands.
I came across to that sonnet and it explains the question I have for myself. Most of the poems I wrote were for the same guy. Pathetic, I know. But it's the only outlet of all my emotions I have for him. (mushy...eck)
I can't help but be attracted to him. Frankly, he doesn't have much of the physical beauty. Something in him that caught my eye. Something that I can't quite place. Yet, I reckon, it is his strong determination of fulfilling his dream; which in reality it is impossible to fulfill.
It hurts me to see him go through it. He's like his imagination is trapped in a room where there is no doors, no windows, no holes for him to get out. But, in fact, there is this outlet if only he would just seek beyond the radius of his vision. I just hope and want him to make his range of view wider. That way he might see that I'm there determined to give the affection that was once turned down by her.
End of pathetic rant. Labels: pathetic love, Shakespeare, sonnet |
