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My Shakespeare
He's in every lover who ever stood alone beneath a
window, In every jealous whispered word, In every ghost that will not rest. He's in every father with a
favourite, Every eye that stops to linger On what someone else has got, and feels the
tightening in their chest. He's in every young man growing boastful, Every worn out elder, drunk all day; Muttering false prophecies and squandering their lot. He's there in every mix-up that spirals far out of control and never seems to end, even when its beginnings are forgot. He's in every girl who ever used her wits. Who ever did her best. In every vain admirer, Every passionate, ambitious social climber, And in every misheard word that ever led to tempers fraying, Every pawn that moves exactly as the
player wants it to, And still remains convinced that it's not playing. He's in every star crossed lover, in every thought that ever set your teeth on edge, in every breathless hero, stepping closer to the
ledge, his is the
method in our madness, as pure as the
driven snow his is the
hair standing on end, he saw that all that glittered was not gold. He knew we hadn't slept a
wink, and that our hearts were upon our sleeves, and that the
beast with two backs had us all upon our knees as we fought fire with fire, he knew that too much of a
good thing, can leave you up in arms, the
pen is mightier than the
sword, still his words seem to sing our names as they strike, and his is the
milk of human kindness, warm enough to break the
ice his, the
green eyed monster, in a
pickle, still, discretion is the
better part of valour, his letters with their arms around each other's shoulders, swagger towards the
ends of their sentences, pleased with what they've done, his words are the
setting for our stories he has become a
poet who poetics have embedded themselves deep within the
fabric of our language, he's in our mouths, his words have tangled round our own and given rise to expressions so effective in expressing how we feel, we can't imagine how we'd feel without them. See he's less the
tights and garters more the
sons demanding answers from the
absence of their fathers. The
hot darkness of your last embrace. He's in the
laughter of the
night before, the
tightened jaw of the
morning after, He's in us. Part and parcel of our Royals and our rascals. He's more than something taught in classrooms, in language that's hard to understand, He's more than a
feeling of inadequacy when we sit for our exams, He's in every wise woman, every pitiful villain, Every great king, every sore loser, every fake tear, His legacy exists in the
life that lives in everything he's written, And me, I
see him everywhere, he's my Shakespeare.
完毕