Poem: I Live Again
I Live Again
Four centuries have passed,
Since Deptford town it was
Said I breathed my last.
For in my place another was laid,
To take my place, thus sealing my fate.
In a shroud of mystery, I left that place.
Many a tale was told of me, after I
Had left to go beyond the sea.
A forgotten man I became, writing
Under another's name, Sweet
Will upon thee I bestowed my fame,
But you are not to blame.
I passed away in secrecy, passed away
Upon a sunny springtime day.
No mother, father could mourn for me,
To help set this broken spirit free.
In sorrow and guilt my soul could not rest,
For the pain was too great within my breast.
The Spirit World could not comfort me,
So they decided to set me free.
To this new Elisabethan Age I came,
But not this time seeking fame,
For the truth about me I want to tell,
Yes, about my shame and living hell.
I grew without knowledge of my past,
Until one day it came clear at last.
When I saw a play about Sweet Will,
How Christopher Marlowe they did kill.
This I could not accept as true,
To put this right I know I must do.
My answers they revealed the clue,
To what happened on that fatefl day,
At Eleanor Bull's house on the 30th of May.
-By Brenda Harwood, 21 December 1993
posted by Brenda Harwood | 9:41 AM
3 Comments:
Marlowe would have poked his eye out himself rather than write this piece of crap, Ma'am.
We appreciate comments and accept that not all people will share Brenda's views. In the future, please leave constructive criticisms rather than anonymous insults and perhaps your opinions will be taken into consideration.
I agree with anonymous, it's a load of bullshit. If she were really the incarnate there would be something about her that is similar to Marlowe. They have nothing in common! Check out Dennis Farrell. He is the true incarnate of Marlowe.
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