Alexa Daskalakis
Notes on what it means to be human—
written from the edge of time, memory and silence.
A White Rose at the Base of Sonnet 18
Placed with deep respect.
Unlike with the others, I do not step into dialogue.
William Shakespeare left a monument of words, and through him, I am able to write at all.
I don’t feel qualified to interpret it — only grateful to have heard it.
This is a small flower at the base. A bow. A whisper.
In reverence. In thanks.
I Will Not Compare You
I will not compare you
to summer,
or silk,
or any lie
that seeks to hold
what cannot remain.
You were warm.
And then you weren’t.
That is enough.
No verse
stops decay.
No line
keeps the body
from becoming
what it was always
meant to lose.
Even the sun
dies
without a word.
There are no right words — and I am not meant to supply them.
Only my sincerest thanks.
I offer this, quietly,
as a small token of appreciation,
to linger in the shadow of what was given.
This is not a response, nor a comparison, nor a dialogue.
Only a white rose — which I hope you would permit me to place at your feet, made possible by your words.
Thank you,
Alexa Daskalakis
Disclaimer: This is an original poem, written as a legally defined transformative response and critical commentary on William Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18. All rights to the original remain with the Shakespeare estate.