Weary with toil, I blog about Shakespeare (Shakespeare’s got me thinking and writing and cussing…)

Sonnet 27 by Shakespeareshakes

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear repose for limbs with travel tired;
But then begins a journey in my head,
To work my mind, when body’s work’s expired:
For then my thoughts (from far where I abide)
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,
Looking on darkness which the blind do see:
Save that my soul’s imaginary sight
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,
Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night,
Makes black night beauteous and her old face new.
Lo, thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind,
For thee, and for myself, no quiet find.



Sonnet 27 is an interesting sonnet, because it’s one of the Fair Youth sonnets. We have good ol’ Shakes trying to drift off to sleep–after all, he is dead tired from work–but his mind will not rest. He keeps straying to the Fair Youth and a certain sense of discontent is present with him. He’s envious? Jealous? Bewitched? Maybe all three? But he can’t take his mind off this youth and it plagues him.

I have a different interpretation (no big surprise there).

It reminds me of the moments I spend meditating right before I go to sleep.  I slip on my night eye mask, turn on my bio-tunes, and begin to visualize how I want my day to begin and end tomorrow.  I go through the day’s events, and express how grateful I am that these events occurred and how. Even when they turn out poorly, I still express my gratitude, because there is a lesson to be learned in everything. Those gentle nudges from the universe always lead you to the right path. Why wouldn’t I be thankful for that?

It’s really not that hard to confess: I am thankful. I am grateful. I am appreciative. I am blessed.

I’m also inspired.

So I wrote about it below.


I prefer the darkness to close my eyes to, though I prefer sleeping in the daytime; however, at night, when all is still, I can finally breathe. I can finally hear myself think and feel.  I drift off to a place where I can rest my head in visions that delight and inspire me.  I fantasize about my life, or the life of my stories, and how each should play out. Plucking the storylines like the thick chords of my virginal innervation. I can save my soul’s sight for those greater, astral wanderings, to the cathedral of the heavens, all electrified with the divine. The novenas repeated, under my breath, as the candle flickers…

–Blessed thou amongst women

Blessed thou amongst women

Blessed thou amongst women.

Blessed thou amongst the ceremonial darkness

until I can see the glow of your skin

‘neath the stars and no more do you concern me–

The daytime seems to crowd out the true nature of the self. I get lost in the technological mayhem of the rudimentary organization of life and the biddity-bobbity-bullshit of it all, while you remain there, in your chair, unaware that your rhyme scheme of punned, stale Dad jokes adds to the snail shell I house myself in.  The constant humming of machines and people flying past drown me, while I just sit there, praying that the time will come when I can finally be alone with my thoughts and not have to deal with anyone but me again.

–Blessed thou amongst sinners

And saints.

And the unforgiven.

The Unborn.

The lost.

And those in between.

Blessed thou amongst all, for thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory of not caring anymore —

The day seems to drain me of every bit of life, and sleeping here in the visuals of you is smothering out any tiny light which remains in my soul. The night (used to) brings me to the spinet of my emotions and left me pages of notes to play, but my fingers ache from the multiple cantatas I’ve played. No more do I hear the sound of my thoughts, the symphony of feelings. It’s just silence. And while there have been times when I dreaded the night because I didn’t want to own up to my emotions, I want to play those pearl keys, in the hopes of finding an answer to the problem of you.

–Blessed thou amongst empty words

empty hearts

empty thoughts

and full egos, for thy walks in the valley of death and knows evil

But the night is when I am closest to them. Night is where we can converse and remember why it is we love each other. Night is where the thoughts come in waves and I swim in the fullness of spirit and soul.

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