Vit Babenco's Reviews > Hamlet
Hamlet
by
by
Something is rotten in the state of Denmark…
I watched six different adaptations of Hamlet…
This is a review of sorts… All the quirks are deliberate…
Attempting Not to Be
Why didn’t time choose to stop?
How can the sun keep rising up?
How dare the earth still turn around?
Now that Ophelia’s drowned.
Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow:
A meandering road of sorrow,
The present drags, the future breaks,
I rush along without brakes.
I walk my path without a bless,
Into the void I confess.
Love is a promiscuous art,
Hate splits me apart.
Love’s no poem. Life’s no song.
Something always goes wrong.
The only mourner in this house of mirth,
My heart gets colder with every single breath,
And sleeping pills became my daily bread,
Now that Ophelia’s dead.
Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow:
From time I can’t borrow,
The present hurts, the future rapes,
I will eat these sour grapes.
I walk a trail of gory mess,
Into the void I digress.
Revenge tastes bittersweet
And vengeance is no feat.
Now that the distress is sown
Let me die on my own.
I watched six different adaptations of Hamlet…
This is a review of sorts… All the quirks are deliberate…
Attempting Not to Be
Why didn’t time choose to stop?
How can the sun keep rising up?
How dare the earth still turn around?
Now that Ophelia’s drowned.
Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow:
A meandering road of sorrow,
The present drags, the future breaks,
I rush along without brakes.
I walk my path without a bless,
Into the void I confess.
Love is a promiscuous art,
Hate splits me apart.
Love’s no poem. Life’s no song.
Something always goes wrong.
The only mourner in this house of mirth,
My heart gets colder with every single breath,
And sleeping pills became my daily bread,
Now that Ophelia’s dead.
Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow:
From time I can’t borrow,
The present hurts, the future rapes,
I will eat these sour grapes.
I walk a trail of gory mess,
Into the void I digress.
Revenge tastes bittersweet
And vengeance is no feat.
Now that the distress is sown
Let me die on my own.
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Reading Progress
May 24, 2024
–
Started Reading
May 24, 2024
– Shelved
May 24, 2024
–
Finished Reading
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Laysee
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May 25, 2024 05:30AM
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Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.”
Sure these famous lines are from Macbeth… But it’s William Shakespeare all the same…