Poems (and Depressive Analysis)

Let me read some poetry from my fav poet :p

At the first turning of the second stair
I turned and saw below
The same shape twisted on the banister
Under the vapour in the fetid air
Struggling with the devil of the stairs who wears
The deceitful face of hope and of despair.

At the second turning of the second stair
I left them twisting, turning below;
There were no more faces and the stair was dark,
Damp, jagged, like an old man's mouth drivelling, beyond repair,
Or the toothed gullet of an aged shark.


Ash -Wednesday, No. III, by T.S. Eliot

The lamp said,
'Four o'clock,
Here is the number on the door.
Memory!
You have the key,
The little lamp spreads a ring on the stair.
Mount.
The bed is open; the tooth-brush hangs on the wall,
Put your shoes at the door, sleep, prepare for life.'

The last twist of the knife.

- Rhapsody on a Windy Night, by T.S. Eliot

For the last poem, I LOVE the contrast between preparing for life and the last twist of the knife. It's life versus death.

The statement 'the last twist of the knife' seems to imply that there were a few other twists of the knife previously. It also immediately summons to mind a person being stabbed by someone else. Although one may have been stabbed in the gut by another, one can never anticipate the coming of the last twist of the knife that will ultimately end one's life.

Death is contrasted with life. Life on the other hand is paired with sleep. The implication seems to be that sleep brings life. Well, I totally agree with this since I LOVE to sleep as well. Muahahahahaaha.

Enough of depressive poetry for one night.