Waldrop, Casey

English 215

October 19, 2000

Thursday 6-9

The poem, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, really touched me. So I decided to write my own version. I altered the words to fit my life exactly. The words I chose came to me throughout the numerous times I read the original poem. T. S. Elliot's words are typed in italics to show that they are not my own words. I chose to leave these select words because those are the words that inspired me.

The Love Song of Casey Lynn Waldrop

Let us go then, you and me,

Through a maze of misery,

Colossal walls may perish and give in,

Or stand strong till the end,

Let us go and see.

Restless nights await us; not you, but me.

An endless path lies within,

The folds and the bends.

Is this not the same fatal fork we came upon

Just hours ago?

Oh, do not ask, "Have we lost our way?"

Let us go, and begin our stay.

In my mind thoughts come and go,

Where will I find my Romeo?

And indeed there will be time,

For the brilliant fireworks to illuminate the sky,

And for short-lived sparks to fly (on this New Year's eve),

Then slowly fade away and die,

Time to paint my face with blindless intentions,

And time to love, but not time to mention,

Time to kiss away our fears,

Fears that will linger, and sluggishly reappear.

Time for you and time for me,

To walk through a maze of misery.

I search and I search,

Yet I do not find.

In my mind thoughts come and go,

Where will I find my Romeo?

The sun dips down to decorate the heavens,

In thousands of endless poetic patterns,

The rays seep through the window-pane,

Then gradually creeps away, but yet still remains,

The darkness poisons the sky like acid rain,

As Mother Earth begins to weep,

And seeing that it was a soft October night,

Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time,

To wonder, "Do I dare?" and "Should I care?"

Time to make war and bring about lasting scars,

(They will whisper: "Has she gone mad?")

Time for our thoughts to collide,

And my voice to reveal the words I hide.

(They will whisper: "My, how her belly is growing thick!)

Do I dare

Proclaim my conspicuous and gradual fate?

Let us go

And give away our souls to our mates.

For I have known them all already, known them all--

Have known the hands, eyes, and lips,

Have known the hands that drew me near,

The indistinguishable hands that dried up the tears,

Then put on the disguising costume,

So what should I assume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all--

Known the eyes that puncture the truth,

The eyes that rob me of my youth,

These windows to your soul I have known,

These hungry eyes you have shown,

And what should I assume?

And I have known the lips already, known them all--

Lips that are soft and lips that are stiff,

Lips that speak the sweet voice I miss,

(Guess we should have considered this, before we kissed),

Is it the eyes, hands, or lips

That sends me on this one-way trip?

And should I then assume?

And where shall I begin?

….

Shall I say I will gulp down my spiked beverage,

Wake up in my make-up,

And purge in the porcelain cup.

I thrive to wash away the fifth with white soapsuds,

I should have been born of Irish blood.

….

And the night, the darkness blinds me from reality,

I am out among the mysterious and sinful night,

I hear a call from afar, without warning, does that make it right?

(Stretched on the drive, face down, a sappy, pathetic, drunken me),

So, why do you not let me sleep?

Should I, after the words impact me,

Have the strength to force the moment to crisis?

But though I have wept and drank, wept and sank,

I am no Prom Queen -- and you, no King,

Don't try to pretend to be!

I have envisioned the twisted truth unraveling in a timely manner,

And from that moment on, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,

After the shower, the lightening, the rain,

To hear the thunder, among conversations between you and me,

Would it have been worth the while,

To allow you to conquer me,

To rate my fate without a smile,

To tolerate this silence which has cast down upon me,

To say: "Searching for an ideal love

Shifts real life passion into low gear." --

If I, gripping a pillow close to my heart,

Shall hear you say, "That is not what I meant at all.

That is not it, at all."

And would it have been worth it, after all,

Would it have been worth going the extra mile,

After the effort, the smiles, the cost,

After the hypocritical comments, the confusion, the loss--

And this, and a thousand times more?--

It is impossible to say just what I mean,

As if I could ever wash my hands clean,

Would it have been worth the years,

If you, all decked out in camouflage,

Shall turn away without any tears, and whisper:

"That is not it at all, you must have misinterpreted,

That is not what I meant at all."

….

No! I am not the Prom Queen, nor was meant to be,

I am an outsider, in silence, one that will do,

To fill the gap between scene one and scene two,

Advise the King; no doubt, an easy tool,

Glad to be of use, then tossed aside like yesterday's news,

Dependable, controllable, the good ol friend,

Full of secrets, hidden under the blanket of love,

At times, indeed, almost ridiculously insane--

At times, almost, the Fool.

I grow old… Love grows cold…

I shall warm my own heart with the advice I told.

Shall I turn down the road once more? Do I dare look for a deer?

I shall leave this place, and walk upon the pier,

I have seen cupid prancing around us with his spear.

I do not think that it will strike me.

I have seen them driving down the freeway,

Searching for the end of the earth and beginning of a new day,

When the sun drops, he will pay.

We have wandered through this maze long enough,

It is time to find an exit from this town,

Til human voices wake us, and we drown.