Poetic Tragedy

Poetic Tragedy...
Shakespeare, so eloquently confesses it's nature of beauty, though apathetically taken as past and written history to so many people in this modern world. His mind and his innermost emotions, translated into stories of English history...with a myriad of wonders within each passing, it is indefinitely something to allegorize.


I pray a day will come that my mind will be as pure and knowledgeable as his. I pray a day will come where I can create such beauty with such immoral impurity, and I can make something that resembles a broken disaster into a perfectly crafted conservatory with plot. Though five seasons hath the length of what once hath possessed more than power, truth, and endurance combined, I suppose that durst and love is dearth to naught. What once overmany and fullsome...henceforth diminished, sunk into great mere. Though I may be troubled, life dost continue its great circle and encompassment. It has made me a smarter man. Betwixt fere and maiden, though often enemies, always angels of the heart in the end. Whither thou goest, I shall go...but understand that if ever beseeched or besought...do not trow that I will tarry. I will never tallt but will NOT tarry. Independence is the created complex for noble men, and more noble than thou, ye hast taught me well to be. I express my gratitude to thee for all suffering, for the sake of MUCH wax. Wax that my dearest fere's have yet to fully grasp and comprehend. It is enigmatic for them...but time will make them his probys. I prithee will understand one day or night, years from this night, for in this moment, thou dost hast nary an inkling of what thou hast done.

But...for the mind, heart, and soul of poetic tragedy, for the sake of itself and for the sake of all thought and affliction, passion, heaven and hell itself and all that it encompasses...despite that she hath turned to favour and to prettiness...I hath been given daisies in exchange for violets because it is already deceased. Their is nothing left to mourn. With sympathetic consideration for all this...I do consider another impossible outcome. Though it shall never cometh, I do not regret it. My life has chosen another path. However, in theory that events outcomes may hath wrought differently, with my own suffering and mistakes, it is moments like these I shall not hath regretted conception. Thy subsequent bastard is thine as well as of noble blood, yet illusion. I often do imagine that such an unintended chasm, doth hath ironically and ultimately unified. Though a dark and dangerous outcome...though would hath never been lost afar, in midst of storm. I could hath endured with longevity, and conquered intertwined. This however, doth not resemble present reality, thankfully. Although, a beautiful mind shall wander. Often flawed and foul metaphorical interpretation is bound to occur, the price of accomplishment comes eternal misinterpretation...but occasionally comes the blessed, yet cursed, correct interpretation. Thou special few, beautiful minds, have possessed the key and cracked our algorithm of language and poetic philosophy. I pray you a long life, I pray God will continue to pour blessings, because He hath given thou one of the most powerful. Shakespeare, so eloquently confesses it's nature of beauty, though apathetically taken as past and written history to so many people in this modern world. Did thou wist that so little shall be known of personal interaction? Did though wist so much artistic beauty of thou shalt be publicized? Rest in Peace. My heart goes out to thy dearest, beautiful mind. He saw thou as I doth, dost and henceforth shall...though deceived, I shant let a loss to my memory. A prison, a palace. My chamber in my mind...a dungeon, and a safe haven. Garden meadow of nobles, yet weeded wasteland. Always mind of mine...with rosemary, daises, and violets. Heaven and hell. Eternal sunshine, spotless. I can not forget or be forgotten. Haunt and hover, enemy and lover, a resident in my peace. What's mine is yours, and what's yours is mine. Forevermore.

Now cracks a noble heart...
Goodnight, sweet prince.
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.