paperastronaut
01-24-2011, 08:42 PM
Once upon a time a blind poet composed a rhyme
He asked the gods to find him and of a future remind him
With new powers in his pocket he shut his door an locked it
And upon his electronic instrument he pushed the keys to implement
The gifts the gods had given him to tell the future according to them
Dark tales and lines streamed forth and the poet’s room began to morph
Turning to stone his carpet covered floor and to gaping hole his wooden door
Smells and sounds surrounded him and a small child counted ten
Ready or not here I come but the morphosing room had just begun
A book-cased wall grew ever tall until at last it began to fall
It tore the house in two exposing mid-winters sky cold and blue
The ruined house lay in a stony heap around the trembling prophet’s feet
Onward forth the prophet wrote until at long last the house was smote
From the buildings bones a dirty city grew and through it robotic horses flew
All the children in the street ran and hid their grimy feet
When the child’s counting ceased one metal horse returned to feast
Then all the children’s fearful eyes turned skyward looking for that thing that flies
Then from ‘round a corner came the horse like bane with its hideous electric mane
Head pointed towards the running child the animals eyes grew wild
And as the child stumbling fell the horse dove down a life to quell
At this point the poets writing stopped for he’d never hoped so much for writers block
To the gods his prayers beseeched let the visions stop or my life be leached
Of destiny one voice replied it spoke of a future not to be denied
The choice is yours to remove the vision it can only be your decision
The gift of sight we gave to you; choose to take it or refuse
At this the poet said “my earthly vision has been blurred who am I to change what has occurred
If deity chooses this gift to give what can I do but accept and live”
As said before the giving has been done either way the future has begun
“So what to do then of the future write so in the future we can better fight!
For if a child’s life be spared its worth my mind being beyond repair”
So the prophet returned without a pause to writing and of future salvation cause
And with an awful bang the dirty city recame and at the feat of a heaving hero a metal horse lay slain
Glancing from fallen horse the child’s eyes grew wider when he realized he’d been saved by the epic jungle fighter
With life and hand extended the child thanked the fighter then running through the street he joined the other blighters
When the poet saw the child saved he thanked both gods and fighter because now the future seemed far brighter
But the wild warrior knew much better for he never read his mail until he held a letter
And as of yet only one horse lay killed the rest have yet to be forever stilled
The fighter’s hammer was covered red for with it he had crushed the mighty horses’ head
Now with robotic horse slain all the remained was to return to the forest and his safety gain
So through dilapidated buildings he walked; under cover of twisted wire so as not to be stalked
From the heart of the ruined heap, through the woods, and to his jungle keep
While walking through the city not a shadow even stirred but he longed for the woods where the jungle cats purred
For his mother raised him in the trees and his father taught him the jungle ways while we was shorter than his knees
The woods had ever been his home and the awful city always caused a bitter groan
But finally he made it to the cities edge across the barrier he’d dash as if jumping from a ledge
As he leapt from his cover he heard one bullet then another
With heart and legs running first he dove then he leapt because for him they were gunning
He seemed to be untouchable not a bullet could ever reach him nor of their pain teach him
One last moment in the open, then a bound to a tree leaving nothing in the sights of the robotic sentry
His mind was filled with violence but surrounding him was peaceful silence
Through the woods he walked while above him the jungle bids squawked
Lonely jungle dogs growled and hungry jungle cats prowled
But the jungle was fighter’s home and through it he loved to roam
And here in the jungle he had some support they were known as the jungle cohort
These were men strong of arm who gave to lives to cause all electric beast ample harm
They were lively men of the wood similar to the ancient Robin of Hood
When and where to strike was never a mystery for they were guided by some book full of future history
Yes your conclusions are most likely true they get their guidance directly from you
Even though it might seem astounding it’s all very real for every word is resounding
These dark men of the wood have been guided not chance but by you for with them you have sided
The prophet sat back in his chair, the room rebuilt itself but he felt like he’d entered some madman’s lair
This is the end of my life, he thought, everything I’ve done before this day has been for naught
Thanks for reading! This is my first attempt at any sort of poetry... so feel free to give me any contructive criticism... regular criticism works too ;) I'll appreciate any advice you can give me... if you think its total crap let me know.
p.s. i read a lot of homer last semester so that might explain a few things... this is supposed to be the first section of 12
He asked the gods to find him and of a future remind him
With new powers in his pocket he shut his door an locked it
And upon his electronic instrument he pushed the keys to implement
The gifts the gods had given him to tell the future according to them
Dark tales and lines streamed forth and the poet’s room began to morph
Turning to stone his carpet covered floor and to gaping hole his wooden door
Smells and sounds surrounded him and a small child counted ten
Ready or not here I come but the morphosing room had just begun
A book-cased wall grew ever tall until at last it began to fall
It tore the house in two exposing mid-winters sky cold and blue
The ruined house lay in a stony heap around the trembling prophet’s feet
Onward forth the prophet wrote until at long last the house was smote
From the buildings bones a dirty city grew and through it robotic horses flew
All the children in the street ran and hid their grimy feet
When the child’s counting ceased one metal horse returned to feast
Then all the children’s fearful eyes turned skyward looking for that thing that flies
Then from ‘round a corner came the horse like bane with its hideous electric mane
Head pointed towards the running child the animals eyes grew wild
And as the child stumbling fell the horse dove down a life to quell
At this point the poets writing stopped for he’d never hoped so much for writers block
To the gods his prayers beseeched let the visions stop or my life be leached
Of destiny one voice replied it spoke of a future not to be denied
The choice is yours to remove the vision it can only be your decision
The gift of sight we gave to you; choose to take it or refuse
At this the poet said “my earthly vision has been blurred who am I to change what has occurred
If deity chooses this gift to give what can I do but accept and live”
As said before the giving has been done either way the future has begun
“So what to do then of the future write so in the future we can better fight!
For if a child’s life be spared its worth my mind being beyond repair”
So the prophet returned without a pause to writing and of future salvation cause
And with an awful bang the dirty city recame and at the feat of a heaving hero a metal horse lay slain
Glancing from fallen horse the child’s eyes grew wider when he realized he’d been saved by the epic jungle fighter
With life and hand extended the child thanked the fighter then running through the street he joined the other blighters
When the poet saw the child saved he thanked both gods and fighter because now the future seemed far brighter
But the wild warrior knew much better for he never read his mail until he held a letter
And as of yet only one horse lay killed the rest have yet to be forever stilled
The fighter’s hammer was covered red for with it he had crushed the mighty horses’ head
Now with robotic horse slain all the remained was to return to the forest and his safety gain
So through dilapidated buildings he walked; under cover of twisted wire so as not to be stalked
From the heart of the ruined heap, through the woods, and to his jungle keep
While walking through the city not a shadow even stirred but he longed for the woods where the jungle cats purred
For his mother raised him in the trees and his father taught him the jungle ways while we was shorter than his knees
The woods had ever been his home and the awful city always caused a bitter groan
But finally he made it to the cities edge across the barrier he’d dash as if jumping from a ledge
As he leapt from his cover he heard one bullet then another
With heart and legs running first he dove then he leapt because for him they were gunning
He seemed to be untouchable not a bullet could ever reach him nor of their pain teach him
One last moment in the open, then a bound to a tree leaving nothing in the sights of the robotic sentry
His mind was filled with violence but surrounding him was peaceful silence
Through the woods he walked while above him the jungle bids squawked
Lonely jungle dogs growled and hungry jungle cats prowled
But the jungle was fighter’s home and through it he loved to roam
And here in the jungle he had some support they were known as the jungle cohort
These were men strong of arm who gave to lives to cause all electric beast ample harm
They were lively men of the wood similar to the ancient Robin of Hood
When and where to strike was never a mystery for they were guided by some book full of future history
Yes your conclusions are most likely true they get their guidance directly from you
Even though it might seem astounding it’s all very real for every word is resounding
These dark men of the wood have been guided not chance but by you for with them you have sided
The prophet sat back in his chair, the room rebuilt itself but he felt like he’d entered some madman’s lair
This is the end of my life, he thought, everything I’ve done before this day has been for naught
Thanks for reading! This is my first attempt at any sort of poetry... so feel free to give me any contructive criticism... regular criticism works too ;) I'll appreciate any advice you can give me... if you think its total crap let me know.
p.s. i read a lot of homer last semester so that might explain a few things... this is supposed to be the first section of 12