T.S Eliot, The Waste Land.
Analysing T.S Eliot’s poem, The Waste Land, turned to regurgitating his clever words into a poem of my own. He’s busy taking ideas from Greek mythology and Shakespeare so I saw no harm. And besides, what better way to procrastinate?
A friend of the dead land
My heart was thriving on memory
And desire. But I…
Had grown forgetful. Regretful.
Had I failed?
I wailed in the silence
of the ever darkening doors:
I knew nothing for sure.
(T.S Eliot, The Waste Land. Lines 1-6 and 38-40)
