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ESPECIALLY THE BALLAD.
Having not written poetry (well, not... structured-ly.) in a long, long time, this is the result.
Kudos to whoever taught me that the Undying (gods, I haven't played XII in so long, I don't even remember if that's what they're called!) speak in iambic pentameter. That made this so much easier.
Personally, I like Eternity and Ballad the most. Ode to Love feels corny, Last Call feels forced and fake, and Death's Knock feels like I was trying too hard to fit the form. Thoughts, y'all?
Context: I've never really known loss, or sorrow. My life is, really, happiness and butterflies. Though I am appreciative of the darker side of life, I am not entirely understanding of it. This turns me into an asshole at times. And I can admit that, freely. It's justified in my mind as that everything has a purpose, and works to an end. Even bad things. As such, my poems on death (Death's Knock) and loss (Last Call) are... not what I like.
Miss Ray is my Lit teacher. She's awesome. My ballad was written last-minute because I had no inspiration for it until then.
"rhymezone dot com" is constantly referenced in my Lit class: every single member of the class (granted, there are only eight of us and one never comes to school) uses it for every single rhyme we need to make. I thought the rhyme with it was kinda cool. If I do say so myself. (:
HOLY CRAP IT'S RAINING. THIS IS UNEXPECTED.
sorry, got sidetracked. But it's raining! It really is! It's so pretty! I'm just hoping there won't be big-ass hailstorms to beat the crap out of my school, this time!
Back on topic, continuing my context. My education is... scattered. I like teaching myself and I'm interested by odd things. However, one thing I've always liked: Myths and legends. For the last Christmas before I never saw him again, my father bought me a book entitled "Mythology". It's absolutely massive. It's one of the most comprehensive guides I've ever seen. Reading it in its entirety forced me to stop and think about so many "common names". Not common names. Old names. It's now become my habit to google every name of every monster/character/whatever that I find, because they so often have hidden depth and meaning that I mightn't understand. Anyway, I'll occasionally draw upon this mythology in my works, or I'll draw upon references to it. My favourite things are references to references to references to archaic idea-expressions.
REMIND ME TO POST ABOUT MY BOOKSHELF.
Also, tl;dr is my lit classroom's new favourite acronym.
Ode to Love
What sees us through the night?
What brings us back to dawn?
What shields us with its might?
And makes us so forlorn?
What does all this, but Love?
What is't that makes us sigh
With longing, oh so great?
What is't for which we'd die?
And what will ne'er abate?
What is all this, but Love?
What is't that makes hearts beat?
What wracks us with desire?
What impossible feat
Sets us quickly afire?
What does all this, but Love?
What is it that sages,
And bards of sterling skill,
Are puzzl'd by, through ages?
What is the greatest thrill?
What is all this, but Love?
What flies so quick on wings
So pure, a beauteous dove?
What o'erpo'ers gods and kings?
What does all this... but Love?
Death's Knock
Listen! Is that Death's knock upon the door?
Is he come finally to seek me out,
And finish what he started with the gout,
Fifteen years ago, twenty, or even more?
I remember when he did come before
To knock upon my door and stand without.
Before there was hope; Before, there was doubt,
Before I made it through that first long war.
But now he comes a-knocking once again.
No more chances this time, no game to play;
There is no hope of escaping my fate.
I just hope he will take me without pain,
And give me time enough to end my day.
Death, my friend, I will not greet you with hate.
Eternity
I sat, glaring into eternity;
And a voice came through to me:
“Child, listen, this is Fate.
Do not look forwards with hate;
Instead, look back with glee:
Tell me, what do you see?”
And so I looked back, and saw
–
Beneath the sycamore
Love's first kiss,
Clichéd, but still bliss.
–
Heartbreak; and heartbroken,
Words left unspoken.
–
Love once again,
though this through a pen.
–
Meeting
And greeting
And saying hello
To the beautiful beau;
It seemed destined to be
–
Then with marriage I did see,
To be it truly was destined,
And never should I have questioned.
–
And love,
Flying as a dove
Beside time,
And so, with a chime
Did Death's bell ring.
–
But you see, here's the thing:
Death's bell so loud,
And I so proud
Had henceforth conspired
With what Fate desired
To bring me to my end.
–
Their love they did send,
And it helped me see,
So I sat, staring at eternity
And made my peace.
Last Call
“Last call! Last call!”
And last call it was;
He had not come.
“I'll love you always!”
If always is but a day, then
Yes! But time is not so fickle as men
And it runs on through the hallways
Of life, quick to reach the end.
And you always said to me,
That we would live happily.
But some hurts do not mend,
Though they fade, over time
To give, and to give,
Or to live and let live?
To forget cannot be a crime.
“Last call! Last call!”
And last call it was;
He would not come.
Ballad (which is also the name of the poem!)
This moment was the beginning of it,
The fiercest struggle, the furious fight
A battle that I simply had to win.
Here rose the challenge: A ballad to write.
“Oh! But what, oh what,” I cried out in fear,
“Could I ever write about, what would flow?”
So I thought and thought, and I thunk and thunk.
“I have an idea!” I yelled out, aglow.
“I'll write of love!” I shouted, full of hope,
Before a thought came whispering to me
“Oh, star star star star!” I thought, censoredly,
“That's been done heaps, it's the same old story!”
So I thought and thought, and I thunk and thunk.
What was there, by the gods, to write about?
“I'll write of death, time, and mortality!”
Then I thought again, and began to doubt.
“It somehow seems most familiar to me...
Ah! Tennyson did that, and Keats as well!
I'd be mistaken always for th'wrong guy!
Quick, quick, or Miss Ray will damn me to hell!”
So I thought, and thought, and I thunk, and thunk.
And decided to show my great aplomb-----
“Wait! Stop! Hold the presses! What rhymes with that?
I know!” I said, “I'll check rhymezone dot com!”
And with that exclaim, my mind gave a start –
It'd had an idea that was valid!
So I thought and thought, and I thunk and knew:
I'd write a ballad about a ballad!
“Now to find material!” I said, proud
(Scaring the cat at the same time, I'll add)
So I looked high, and low, and search'd about
Despite my fam'ly thinking me quite mad.
Then I thought, and thought, and I thunk and thunk
And realised, as I did: My thinking,
And my thunking had wrote my po'm for me
Which was good, 'cuz my patience was shrinking.
So then I typed it up, and sent it off,
Just hoping that my ingenuity
Made up for my super slowness, cough cough.
And I bid “Good-day!” to this poem's end.