Broken Again

For my Advanced Comp class assignment, I had to write an imitation of Ulysess by James Joyce (it's an irish book I believe).

I am going through some really hard times with my girlfriend (she broke up with me after a year and a half of dating), so I decided I'd write the imitation sorta self-based I guess.

Here it is..

With years of age, memories from the past burn, horrible yet unforgettable memories, cutting through, piercing, crushing. My heart will burn to dust. I shall wait. No, the memories will move on, burning, leaving a trail of blood, dripping, scarring. Better ignore the feelings. Cry: the agonizing release of the painful past: crushing, crashing, breaking. Unbearable pain, from the thoughts, among the memories, nights of regret, love. It beats like a drum: snap, boom, crash: crushed by words of forget. But, broken, its cries die. It silences the heart, stopping, sleeping, sadly singing.

Behind the silence of forgotten passions breaking from a glass prison his heart ruined, arms lifted to the sky, surrendering to the Controller and Keeper of all. On and on: forever and ever: healed, cleansed, and pushed on forward. Heart still broken: patched by the Healer, he waits for the end. He heard the sigh of the brokenhearted, healing, preparing those for the time at the end.

It's quite short, but let me know what you think.

Here's the passage I was "imitating" (it's pretty much just an imitation of the style, not the actual subject matter, etc.).

"In long lassoes from the [rooster] lake the water flowed full, covering green-goldenly lagoons of sand, rising, flowing. My ashplant will float away. I shall wait. No, they will pass on, passing chafing against the low rocks, swirling, passing. Better get this job over quick. Listen: a four-worded wavespeech: seesoo, hrss, rsseeiss ooos. Vehement breath of water amid sea snakes, rearing horses, rocks. In cups of rocks it slops: flop, slop, slap: bounded in barrels. And, spent, its speech ceases. It flows purling widely flowing, floating foampool, flower unfurling.

Under the upswelling tide he saw the writhing weeds lift languidly and sway reluctant arms, hissing up their petticoats, in whispering water swaying and upturning coy silver fronts. Day by day: night by night: lifted, flooded, and let fall. They are weary: and, whispered to, they sigh. Saint Ambrose heard it, sigh of leaves and waves, waiting, awaiting the fullness of their times."