...I have no excuse for the stupidity and poor writing to follow...save boredom.
A poem I decided to write.. terrible, terrible.. but again, trying to seriously write for the first time in about three years. So meh. And though it's poor writing, thanks and dedication are given, though as for now, left unwritten.
On one grey eve alone I strolled, apart from other toils
Perchance I glimpsed upon the road: a King, truth told, a royal
The man was considerable though his figure slight
His footfalls staggered roughly; on blindly through the night
Until the streetlights faded and upon the old wooden docks he stood;
His tattered robes mere rags clothing riches, were scarce a shield,
No crown upon his head he wore, his scepter but a broken glass
Which previous the bottles vag'ry to thirsting mouth did yield;
Infiltrating his form, as if an ignis fatuus to pliant mind
When thirst was quenched, the castle's keep unbarred in kind.
Then on the wind-swept borders of endless, churning loch
He stood in silence, the surge and swell; the royal mocked
Veridical words first unspoken, the night whispers did tell
Until to the docks' draw-bridge planks the noble king was felled
His head he gripped, his lips he curled and then the fair glass cracked
But yet no sweet azure drops fell from soverigns' brow
Similar to the flask now broke; birthed another sight
Another tale, another man the many scattered shards avow:
The King sanguine in the deep of night- drank the poor mans brew
This great leveller of all men, turned King's blood claret from blue.
A ghostly apparition floated, danced across my eyes
Sitting in watch over m'lord, through the trees this I a'spied
The Ruler marched through drawbridge gates, as if to never walk again
He gazed to pastures out across the land he had conquored and men condemned.
Upon his face, a twisted set- sorrow followed by faint smile;
With jaw set firm and eyes gone grim, his own sword the King withdrew.
In that moment of utter dark, the churn of turbid sea grew strong
Pried from prison, the sword ran free- yet this time only ink ran true.
As the twisted chimera faded for a moment, from my tiring eyes-
I peered down from shadows dark as out to strawberry moon my dear King cried.
In azure drops of ink he wrote, I saw through mirrored eyes
"I discerned more clearly in this night -than ever I could desbribe-
The troubles of our Nationstates, which so long have waged this war,
From sources so untrusted,unknown that I never sought their council before."
Again my own vision faltered as I struggled in haze, both to view
The Soverign scribe paused a moment; his eyes narrowly glanced around-
Perhaps this master had heard my faltered breath, in the darkness I plead not
Whilst the poor King kept kneeling on creaking docks, scarce did make a sound.
A hushed moment, with breath held tight I sat 'til the two began again
Though I found it puzzling, to see a Monarch neither on attack nor to defend.
Again the words fell from a ragged, sloppy mouth- rags twirling in the wind
"Ne'er did I see before how a poor pub's stool and Kings Thrown be kin.
From the depths of poverty's vice, from their meager stores I drew
A sip of water much like fire- the world around me was razed, anew
An understanding of which I grasped, the eternal struggle of emperiled mind
An unending chasm in the streets narrows, a death in place of pain..
For in the looking-glass I see not Narcicus, no beauty there is found
Instead my enemies countenance; leaking orbs that search and strain
In the twilight hour before a moon so blue, 'fore the red sun is birthed and risen:
I gaze upon my new Solomon, for now I feel that in his gaze all the truth is given."
In silence I watched -as if a child at a play- the Kings draw out their real swords:
Whilst on the wooden planks they stood now to bridge this canyon; let exist no more
The abyss grown 'tween them; two long lost brothers of this so frail, the human race
They had eyed eachother time before but each time in view, the mask of a nemesis face.
Now adrift my uncomprehending watch did follow- their staggard movements mirrored
In that moment when sun did dawn, it's blood rays matched the crimson tides
That beneath the dock had rising come, in greeting they lapped, their whitecaps loud,
As I heard atop the howl of wind- a whisper, and me from light another line I a'spied
The words, the call at first I hide from, would not recieve their tricksome bait
Yet ears uncovered, orbs unmasked I trembled all with fear- dancing on into my fate.
The king had written, the pauper had cried, in the scant moments that preceeded death
Before the march of time went on, and in the fair fields of Elysium, met
"A most disturbing thing, of which I have discovered in my taste of Circe's brew,
No Monarch, no pauper stand so divided -by this I stand and know is true-"
My mouth at this embittered, I shook my head most quick and indignantly..
"They are not separated such expanse, as to be a foe in place of friend,"
The words were bellowed, the tone was stark...blue ink turned crimson red,
"Or stand not council for their true brothers, though the circle wide- we are but men."
At this thought, the sunlight shon as if never before down upon their broken forms
Each fallen off far into churning depths. Though it was so long ago, the words still echo from that morn.
So that sucked. But it's 4am.. and I'm just a tad stressed recently.. need to do some editing, but atleast I've begun to write again, despite it's absolute lacking of GOOD.
Earlier on,
((So damned bored.. the liberals/grits lead the vote by a meager 7 percent right now, tories behind, then Bloc Quebocois (rot in the hell of your own making), and finally the NDP. Or Mabye reverse the last two, but nonetheless. *Only staying up to see who wins, hence the bordeom*))
If you're Martin and you know it,
Say "Not me!"
If you're Harper and you know it,
Spin with glee
If you're Layton and you know it,
Then your policy will show it
If you're young and you know it,
"Vote? Who me?"
If you're Liberal and you know it,
Hide the facts!
If you're Conservative and you know it,
'Cut' the tax!
If you're New Democrat and you know it,
Then your equal love will show it
If you're a non-voter and you know it,
Pick up the slack
If you're a grit and you know it,
Blame the past!
If you're a tory and you know it,
It won't last!
If you're socialist and you know it,
Then your class will surely show it
If you're a voter and you know it,
Give a laugh...
If you're equal rights and know it,
Cry afoul
If you're the church and you know it,
Protect the vow
If you're center and you know it,
Then your apathy will show it
If you're Canadian and you know it,
Vote right now.
Mr. Martin's prisoner of the old policy
Jolly, jolly fool of the past is he
Cry, Mr. Martin! Cry, Mr. Martin!
An electoral Santa Claus is he
Mr. Harper sits on the west's hard knee
Destroying all the diversity he can see
Stop, Mr. Harper! Stop, Mr. Harper!
This is the way that things should be
Mr. Layton frolicks in the streets
Rallying all the votes for class policies
Run, Mr. Layton! Run, Mr. Layton!
Only a revolution could make that be..
Canadian voters sit on a rusty nail
Every party seems as if to fail
Cry, Canadians! Cry, Canadians!
A government minority!
Need...sleep. Too long without. Or with little. Or something. Goodnight.
On one grey eve alone I strolled, apart from other toils
Perchance I glimpsed upon the road: a King, truth told, a royal
The man was considerable though his figure slight
His footfalls staggered roughly; on blindly through the night
Until the streetlights faded and upon the old wooden docks he stood;
His tattered robes mere rags clothing riches, were scarce a shield,
No crown upon his head he wore, his scepter but a broken glass
Which previous the bottles vag'ry to thirsting mouth did yield;
Infiltrating his form, as if an ignis fatuus to pliant mind
When thirst was quenched, the castle's keep unbarred in kind.
Then on the wind-swept borders of endless, churning loch
He stood in silence, the surge and swell; the royal mocked
Veridical words first unspoken, the night whispers did tell
Until to the docks' draw-bridge planks the noble king was felled
His head he gripped, his lips he curled and then the fair glass cracked
But yet no sweet azure drops fell from soverigns' brow
Similar to the flask now broke; birthed another sight
Another tale, another man the many scattered shards avow:
The King sanguine in the deep of night- drank the poor mans brew
This great leveller of all men, turned King's blood claret from blue.
A ghostly apparition floated, danced across my eyes
Sitting in watch over m'lord, through the trees this I a'spied
The Ruler marched through drawbridge gates, as if to never walk again
He gazed to pastures out across the land he had conquored and men condemned.
Upon his face, a twisted set- sorrow followed by faint smile;
With jaw set firm and eyes gone grim, his own sword the King withdrew.
In that moment of utter dark, the churn of turbid sea grew strong
Pried from prison, the sword ran free- yet this time only ink ran true.
As the twisted chimera faded for a moment, from my tiring eyes-
I peered down from shadows dark as out to strawberry moon my dear King cried.
In azure drops of ink he wrote, I saw through mirrored eyes
"I discerned more clearly in this night -than ever I could desbribe-
The troubles of our Nationstates, which so long have waged this war,
From sources so untrusted,unknown that I never sought their council before."
Again my own vision faltered as I struggled in haze, both to view
The Soverign scribe paused a moment; his eyes narrowly glanced around-
Perhaps this master had heard my faltered breath, in the darkness I plead not
Whilst the poor King kept kneeling on creaking docks, scarce did make a sound.
A hushed moment, with breath held tight I sat 'til the two began again
Though I found it puzzling, to see a Monarch neither on attack nor to defend.
Again the words fell from a ragged, sloppy mouth- rags twirling in the wind
"Ne'er did I see before how a poor pub's stool and Kings Thrown be kin.
From the depths of poverty's vice, from their meager stores I drew
A sip of water much like fire- the world around me was razed, anew
An understanding of which I grasped, the eternal struggle of emperiled mind
An unending chasm in the streets narrows, a death in place of pain..
For in the looking-glass I see not Narcicus, no beauty there is found
Instead my enemies countenance; leaking orbs that search and strain
In the twilight hour before a moon so blue, 'fore the red sun is birthed and risen:
I gaze upon my new Solomon, for now I feel that in his gaze all the truth is given."
In silence I watched -as if a child at a play- the Kings draw out their real swords:
Whilst on the wooden planks they stood now to bridge this canyon; let exist no more
The abyss grown 'tween them; two long lost brothers of this so frail, the human race
They had eyed eachother time before but each time in view, the mask of a nemesis face.
Now adrift my uncomprehending watch did follow- their staggard movements mirrored
In that moment when sun did dawn, it's blood rays matched the crimson tides
That beneath the dock had rising come, in greeting they lapped, their whitecaps loud,
As I heard atop the howl of wind- a whisper, and me from light another line I a'spied
The words, the call at first I hide from, would not recieve their tricksome bait
Yet ears uncovered, orbs unmasked I trembled all with fear- dancing on into my fate.
The king had written, the pauper had cried, in the scant moments that preceeded death
Before the march of time went on, and in the fair fields of Elysium, met
"A most disturbing thing, of which I have discovered in my taste of Circe's brew,
No Monarch, no pauper stand so divided -by this I stand and know is true-"
My mouth at this embittered, I shook my head most quick and indignantly..
"They are not separated such expanse, as to be a foe in place of friend,"
The words were bellowed, the tone was stark...blue ink turned crimson red,
"Or stand not council for their true brothers, though the circle wide- we are but men."
At this thought, the sunlight shon as if never before down upon their broken forms
Each fallen off far into churning depths. Though it was so long ago, the words still echo from that morn.
So that sucked. But it's 4am.. and I'm just a tad stressed recently.. need to do some editing, but atleast I've begun to write again, despite it's absolute lacking of GOOD.
Earlier on,
((So damned bored.. the liberals/grits lead the vote by a meager 7 percent right now, tories behind, then Bloc Quebocois (rot in the hell of your own making), and finally the NDP. Or Mabye reverse the last two, but nonetheless. *Only staying up to see who wins, hence the bordeom*))
If you're Martin and you know it,
Say "Not me!"
If you're Harper and you know it,
Spin with glee
If you're Layton and you know it,
Then your policy will show it
If you're young and you know it,
"Vote? Who me?"
If you're Liberal and you know it,
Hide the facts!
If you're Conservative and you know it,
'Cut' the tax!
If you're New Democrat and you know it,
Then your equal love will show it
If you're a non-voter and you know it,
Pick up the slack
If you're a grit and you know it,
Blame the past!
If you're a tory and you know it,
It won't last!
If you're socialist and you know it,
Then your class will surely show it
If you're a voter and you know it,
Give a laugh...
If you're equal rights and know it,
Cry afoul
If you're the church and you know it,
Protect the vow
If you're center and you know it,
Then your apathy will show it
If you're Canadian and you know it,
Vote right now.
Mr. Martin's prisoner of the old policy
Jolly, jolly fool of the past is he
Cry, Mr. Martin! Cry, Mr. Martin!
An electoral Santa Claus is he
Mr. Harper sits on the west's hard knee
Destroying all the diversity he can see
Stop, Mr. Harper! Stop, Mr. Harper!
This is the way that things should be
Mr. Layton frolicks in the streets
Rallying all the votes for class policies
Run, Mr. Layton! Run, Mr. Layton!
Only a revolution could make that be..
Canadian voters sit on a rusty nail
Every party seems as if to fail
Cry, Canadians! Cry, Canadians!
A government minority!
Need...sleep. Too long without. Or with little. Or something. Goodnight.