Once upon a midnight dreary,
I ambled upon those sands dreamy,
An hour behind the fleeting breath,
I rushed to catch Her fading truth …
The last slender strands of Time slips,
Through my fingers, through this hourglass slim …
Time, such a shadowy being is She,
To be glimpsed only when least desired:
Passion’s startling antipode is She —
By whom when led She droops,
When leading, ascends …
A good writer possesses not just his,
But also the spirit of all men’s thoughts —
Time is his commerce, Time his grave,
Time is what he will for always crave.
The slips and the streams, they drain, and they drain,
He is left alone, possessing not even his own;
With it the stream of words cease to flow,
With it all voices of melody turns mute …
… I do not wish to make me a laughing-stock,
Before these throngs of idle listeners.
… Let not sloth dim my horrors new-begot,
Let me discover anew silence wherever I turn.
Help me find that silent thief,
Who steals from me my most precious treasure —
Procrastination, that thief of Time,
Let me collar him and hammer the stake!
I wish I could write as mysterious as a cat,
And sneak in with my silent words …
“And form your noose around that neck,”
Said She, in the same hurried passionate whisper,
“And hang him till the fleeting breath flits no more”.
Composed on: Google Docs Demo: Masters Edition, in collaboration with Edgar Alan Poe, William Wordsworth, Emily Dickinson, Friedrich Nietzsche, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Charles Dickens and William Shakespeare. So a few quotes from these writers make up some lines here and there, all the better parts actually.
PS. Do share your own collaborations below if you find them interesting.