when he silently crept into my bed
I noticed how the mirrors refused him.
And Ice Goddess knows the Insatiable Lust that drives us to write.
...When I am long past nursing earthworms
Please let someone remember my name...
I took a quiz to see what poetic form I am, and the result was dark enough to include here, even though the questions have absolutely nothing to do with poetry.
If they told you I'm mad, then they lied.
I'm odd, but it isn't compulsive.
I'm the triolet, bursting with pride;
If they told you I'm mad, then they lied.
No, it isn't obsessive. Now hide
All the spoons or I might get convulsive.
If they told you I'm mad then they lied.
I'm odd, but it isn't compulsive.
And Lucy Fer always takes The Darkest Way Home with her poem, "The Minority."
Sky frowns down,
On the people that cry,
On the people that can't carry on.
Black clouds scowl,
On the people that can't lie,
On the people that break under the scrutiny.
The sun burns,
All the people that fall to their knees,
All the people that jump into the sea.
The world glares,
At you and me.
So as you go to see the Star Wars saga's finish, remember the immortal words of balladeer Al Yankovic, in The Saga Begins...:
Oh my my this here Anakin guy
May be Vader someday later—now he’s just a small fry
And he left his home and kissed his mommy goodbye
Sayin’ soon I’m gonna be a Jedi
Soon I’m gonna be a Jedi...
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