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The spray of shattered glass around your naked feet
Reminds you of bad dreams, the awful scissor-lock:
You think yourself awake, but now somehow the sheet
Has got you paralyzed. You listen as the clock
Gets louder every tick. And something just outside
The unlocked kitchen door is sniffing at the air
And knows you're lying here. Your mouth is open wide
To call for help, but no breath comes, just rank despair.
But this paralysis commands no silent scream:
No shambling horror lurks; no demon calls your name.
Yes, you are wide awake, and this is not a dream.
This empty warehouse soon will be a sunless black
But all this glass I strewed around your sleeping frame
Won't hurt if you stay put when all the wasps attack.
EDITED: P.S. these sonnets don't tend to garner a lot of comments, but I am curious as to what me friendses think about them week to week. Not fishing for blind compliments, but would love any constructive criticism. I try to vary the tone/theme/content; most of the time I have no idea what I'm going to write about until I start. This one, right out of Tales from the Crypt, is pretty unusual for both its hexameter and its subject matter.
Rather than jam in all kinds of enjambments like I often do with pentameter—to the point of disguising its very sonnetude—here I tried to stick as much as possible to classical Alexandrines, which break each line in half with caesurae or "breaths" between. Note that fully half of the verses have a comma, semicolon, or period between pairs of six syllables. Line 8 is 3 x 2 feet, a romantic innovation favored by, for example, Victor Hugo.
Anyway, whadayatalk? Would the last line be more effective with "...when all my wasps attack"?
P.P.S.: Alternate version. I'm alarmed that people didn't "get" the original, didn't understand what it was about or what was happning. This might correct that:
The spray of shattered glass around your throbbing head
Reminds you of bad dreams, the awful scissor-lock:
You think yourself awake, but paralyzed: the bed
Has sucked your energy. You listen as the clock
Gets louder every tick. And something just outside
The unlocked kitchen door is sniffing at the air
And knows right where you are. Your mouth is open wide
To call for help, but no breath comes: just rank despair.
Wake up! Your helplessness commands no silent scream:
No shambling horror lurks; no demon calls your name.
My love, you’re wide awake and this is not a dream.
You’re naked in this vault, as torches flare and die,
And all this glass I strewed about your sleeping frame
Won’t hurt if you stay still when I the wasps let fly.
Reminds you of bad dreams, the awful scissor-lock:
You think yourself awake, but now somehow the sheet
Has got you paralyzed. You listen as the clock
Gets louder every tick. And something just outside
The unlocked kitchen door is sniffing at the air
And knows you're lying here. Your mouth is open wide
To call for help, but no breath comes, just rank despair.
But this paralysis commands no silent scream:
No shambling horror lurks; no demon calls your name.
Yes, you are wide awake, and this is not a dream.
This empty warehouse soon will be a sunless black
But all this glass I strewed around your sleeping frame
Won't hurt if you stay put when all the wasps attack.
EDITED: P.S. these sonnets don't tend to garner a lot of comments, but I am curious as to what me friendses think about them week to week. Not fishing for blind compliments, but would love any constructive criticism. I try to vary the tone/theme/content; most of the time I have no idea what I'm going to write about until I start. This one, right out of Tales from the Crypt, is pretty unusual for both its hexameter and its subject matter.
Rather than jam in all kinds of enjambments like I often do with pentameter—to the point of disguising its very sonnetude—here I tried to stick as much as possible to classical Alexandrines, which break each line in half with caesurae or "breaths" between. Note that fully half of the verses have a comma, semicolon, or period between pairs of six syllables. Line 8 is 3 x 2 feet, a romantic innovation favored by, for example, Victor Hugo.
Anyway, whadayatalk? Would the last line be more effective with "...when all my wasps attack"?
P.P.S.: Alternate version. I'm alarmed that people didn't "get" the original, didn't understand what it was about or what was happning. This might correct that:
The spray of shattered glass around your throbbing head
Reminds you of bad dreams, the awful scissor-lock:
You think yourself awake, but paralyzed: the bed
Has sucked your energy. You listen as the clock
Gets louder every tick. And something just outside
The unlocked kitchen door is sniffing at the air
And knows right where you are. Your mouth is open wide
To call for help, but no breath comes: just rank despair.
Wake up! Your helplessness commands no silent scream:
No shambling horror lurks; no demon calls your name.
My love, you’re wide awake and this is not a dream.
You’re naked in this vault, as torches flare and die,
And all this glass I strewed about your sleeping frame
Won’t hurt if you stay still when I the wasps let fly.
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