Antigone Poems
Antigone Poems
By Wren Davies
These are poems I wrote about the play Antigone Theatre Temp performed in March. I created a poem for Antigone, Ismenee (Antigone’s sister), Creon (the king), and a Sentry (a guard). I titled the poems based on lines that the characters said in the play!
“And right in the middle, Antigone”
The flame flickered brightly in the dark night,
Growing taller as the fury rises
The smoke, the shame, the suffering
Haunts Antigone like smoke haunts a fire
The thoughts of her brothers smother her head
She knows what she must do
She knows what will happen
But she also knows that her flame isn’t going to die without a fight
She isn’t going to be burning in a room forever, she would rather
Burn fast and now and be able to prove herself.
The one log holding her back is her sister
Just a candle in a world of fire
But Antigone knows what she must do,
and knows that she will see her sister in heaven
Her fire burns the brightest on the way to the cave,
She hopes the people breathe in her smoke to continue her legacy
As her fire begins to fade in the cave
She smiles because although you can get rid of the fire
You can’t get rid of the smoke
“Finish the braid, Ismene.”
The flame that flickers slowly,
conserving energy to provide for others.
Disappearing into the shadows of the smoke,
while the playful fires dance in the ashes.
That is the role of the older sister,
constantly letting others shine while worrying.
The needing to just keep everyone safe,
healthy,
happy.
Not caring about the right or wrong, just what's the safest.
The want to self-sacrifice to keep others safe,
to value others more than themselves.
The flame contains wisdom that is overpowered by the love and empathy heat of the fire.
The fire that burns the longest and the hottest but is overpowered by the quick boisterous flames of others.
“Uncle Creon, you're more frightened than I am.”
The role of choosing between the people or your family.
The need to provide for the people,
to show the strength in the times of suffering.
Creon stands at the throne, watching the promises crumble in the ruins.
The weight of the dead is on his shoulders,
the need for the war to be gone,
The brothers haunt his brain on a memory loop that is constantly playing.
Should I?
Could I?
Would I?
The laws must be held for the promise of peace.
He had to enforce them, there was no other choice, but the people don’t think
His broken heart is patched together by rocks that heavy the man.
He had lost everything and yet no one understood.
Family meant something yes,
but did it mean everything?
Every wail caused his heart to ache and break,
Every death caused him to die a piece at a time.
His reign was short lived, but it left him as a broken man.
And as a man that would be remembered as trying to pick up a city in shambles.
A man who put the city before family, with the people being unaware of the harshness of choices.
“One of the Sentrys sir, guarding the body.”
The guards who seem to do all wrong and no right.
Fear is sketched into their faces,
along with the tales of battle.
No one understands,
no one sees,
no one realizes how hard the job of a sentry is.
They aren’t even addressed with names,
just clumped together like a flock of birds.
The fear that causes laughter,
not nice laughter,
but scared laughter.
The unknown soldiers who stand in the darkness,
Waiting to be recognized individually.
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