Post by Shale August on May 1, 2008 10:26:24 GMT
Parts of my English project, actually. Kind of morbid, I know, but my theme was death, so yeah.
The Devil’s Bane
Across the seas so terrible,
There is a tale long told,
An ancient, twisted parable,
A warning for the bold.
It tells the tale of a doomed ship,
She roamed the lawless seas,
Until her final, fated trip,
When she was sunk with ease.
This schooner swam with bright white sails,
A flag raised high above,
Crew strengthened by the old cat’s tails,
Heralded by a dove.
But swift in tow came monster finned,
Devil’s child, terror true,
Come to collect all those who’d sinned,
To Hell; not Heaven blue.
Without a doubt they were all doomed,
To Hell with every one,
Not one knew what it was that loomed,
Behind but yet to come.
Dark thunder through the ocean deep,
A rift from Hell struck through,
When all the world was cloaked in sleep,
Defeated was the crew.
The moonlight tore through blackened night,
On shiny scales so great,
So blinding to all those in sight,
There’s no escape; it’s fate.
Glittering in the moonlight fair,
A giant swordfish bright,
They saw it arching through the air,
Then disappear from sight.
The ship was skewered by the sword,
All men aboard were slain,
The devil’s justice was restored,
And thus it will remain.
Like this the schooner sank at sea,
Her men all dead and gone,
The devil did not let them be,
All down to Hell by dawn.
All those who seek this ancient spoil,
Hear cries from down below,
Where forevermore the crew will toil,
Wallowing in their woe.
This fated ship, what was it named?
Ironic as it was,
This schooner bright was old and famed,
And sunk only because,
Her name upset the lord of Hell,
She was the Devil’s Bane.
Just Hyperbole
That early Sunday morning,
I had a ton on my mind,
I was faced by blistering light,
Like a puppy I was blind.
I could have eaten a horse,
For that I’d need a stable,
After I would weigh a ton,
And soon I’d break the table.
Then I remembered my work,
Homework I still had to do,
A million years it would take,
For tomorrow it was due.
My mom was a thunderstorm,
Boiling mad she yelled and cried,
“In your head must be a pea,
Your brain must be deep-fried!”
This confused me very much,
My head and skull were cold,
I don’t think we’ve eaten peas,
So this to my mom I told.
“Shut up!” She said, very loud,
“That was a hyperbole,
Now go look up ‘rhetoric’,
And please leave me alone!”
Falling Leaves
Fiery leaves drift gently down,
Buffeted by the breeze,
A flurry of both red and brown,
Floating beneath the trees.
A spiral here, a quick twist there,
But otherwise mundane,
Cascading down an unseen stair,
Toward the earth like rain.
Yet in a blink the leaf is gone,
Settling on damp earth,
Evening almost before dawn,
Death even before birth.
In the eyes of an old, aged tree,
Each leaf falls in a blur,
Like grains of sand in a vast sea,
The sea they fail to stir.
From birth to death the lives of men,
Mean little to the flow,
Of the thick ink from the great pen,
Of Time that writes all woe.
Every leaf is another life,
Of yet another soul,
That from birth will descend through strife,
To death, without control.
Flatline
In a darkened hospital room,
A soft cough, a wheezing breath,
Tired heart thumping in the gloom,
Suspending the touch of Death.
Clatter, clatter of bone fingers,
On a beeping monitor,
In a broken body lingers,
The silent remnants of life.
A pacing figure, pale and tall,
With a swishing robe of black,
Graceful movement, unlike a sprawl,
His scythe clicking on the floor.
A final thump, a final breath,
A final exhausted cough,
A harvest for the Reaper, Death,
Release for a tired soul.
A ghostly flicker, a bony clap,
But silent Death still remains,
On the old monitor a tap,
The very end, a lasting beep.
Time
The lake is as blue as the sky,
The hills are as green as grass,
The trees whisper as time flies by,
On Stymphalian wings of brass.
The world in silence does recline,
Still and noiseless as the grave,
Time flows slow, like sand so fine,
Stirring in an eddied cave.
Time is like a silent river,
Time is like a black parade,
In the end it will deliver,
Fading days, a masquerade,
Of memories, of days long past,
Both slow and fast, but not to last.
Ragnarök
Far beyond all mortal sight,
Lies the land where the gods will fall,
Where cascades the aurora bright.
Under the unearthly light,
From his bonds the wolf will crawl,
Far beyond all mortal sight.
Grand warriors of great height,
March from Freyja’s hall,
Where cascades the aurora bright.
Cloaked by invincible night,
Sails the ship of Loki tall,
Far beyond all mortal sight.
Knowing all he does is right,
For the Æsir will Odin call,
Where cascades the aurora bright.
With gaping jaws will Fenris bite,
And Surtr’s giants the gods will stall,
Far beyond all mortal sight.
Till the end of this fated fight,
In fire will the dark world pall,
Far beyond all mortal sight,
Where cascades the aurora bright.
The Devil’s Bane
Across the seas so terrible,
There is a tale long told,
An ancient, twisted parable,
A warning for the bold.
It tells the tale of a doomed ship,
She roamed the lawless seas,
Until her final, fated trip,
When she was sunk with ease.
This schooner swam with bright white sails,
A flag raised high above,
Crew strengthened by the old cat’s tails,
Heralded by a dove.
But swift in tow came monster finned,
Devil’s child, terror true,
Come to collect all those who’d sinned,
To Hell; not Heaven blue.
Without a doubt they were all doomed,
To Hell with every one,
Not one knew what it was that loomed,
Behind but yet to come.
Dark thunder through the ocean deep,
A rift from Hell struck through,
When all the world was cloaked in sleep,
Defeated was the crew.
The moonlight tore through blackened night,
On shiny scales so great,
So blinding to all those in sight,
There’s no escape; it’s fate.
Glittering in the moonlight fair,
A giant swordfish bright,
They saw it arching through the air,
Then disappear from sight.
The ship was skewered by the sword,
All men aboard were slain,
The devil’s justice was restored,
And thus it will remain.
Like this the schooner sank at sea,
Her men all dead and gone,
The devil did not let them be,
All down to Hell by dawn.
All those who seek this ancient spoil,
Hear cries from down below,
Where forevermore the crew will toil,
Wallowing in their woe.
This fated ship, what was it named?
Ironic as it was,
This schooner bright was old and famed,
And sunk only because,
Her name upset the lord of Hell,
She was the Devil’s Bane.
Just Hyperbole
That early Sunday morning,
I had a ton on my mind,
I was faced by blistering light,
Like a puppy I was blind.
I could have eaten a horse,
For that I’d need a stable,
After I would weigh a ton,
And soon I’d break the table.
Then I remembered my work,
Homework I still had to do,
A million years it would take,
For tomorrow it was due.
My mom was a thunderstorm,
Boiling mad she yelled and cried,
“In your head must be a pea,
Your brain must be deep-fried!”
This confused me very much,
My head and skull were cold,
I don’t think we’ve eaten peas,
So this to my mom I told.
“Shut up!” She said, very loud,
“That was a hyperbole,
Now go look up ‘rhetoric’,
And please leave me alone!”
Falling Leaves
Fiery leaves drift gently down,
Buffeted by the breeze,
A flurry of both red and brown,
Floating beneath the trees.
A spiral here, a quick twist there,
But otherwise mundane,
Cascading down an unseen stair,
Toward the earth like rain.
Yet in a blink the leaf is gone,
Settling on damp earth,
Evening almost before dawn,
Death even before birth.
In the eyes of an old, aged tree,
Each leaf falls in a blur,
Like grains of sand in a vast sea,
The sea they fail to stir.
From birth to death the lives of men,
Mean little to the flow,
Of the thick ink from the great pen,
Of Time that writes all woe.
Every leaf is another life,
Of yet another soul,
That from birth will descend through strife,
To death, without control.
Flatline
In a darkened hospital room,
A soft cough, a wheezing breath,
Tired heart thumping in the gloom,
Suspending the touch of Death.
Clatter, clatter of bone fingers,
On a beeping monitor,
In a broken body lingers,
The silent remnants of life.
A pacing figure, pale and tall,
With a swishing robe of black,
Graceful movement, unlike a sprawl,
His scythe clicking on the floor.
A final thump, a final breath,
A final exhausted cough,
A harvest for the Reaper, Death,
Release for a tired soul.
A ghostly flicker, a bony clap,
But silent Death still remains,
On the old monitor a tap,
The very end, a lasting beep.
Time
The lake is as blue as the sky,
The hills are as green as grass,
The trees whisper as time flies by,
On Stymphalian wings of brass.
The world in silence does recline,
Still and noiseless as the grave,
Time flows slow, like sand so fine,
Stirring in an eddied cave.
Time is like a silent river,
Time is like a black parade,
In the end it will deliver,
Fading days, a masquerade,
Of memories, of days long past,
Both slow and fast, but not to last.
Ragnarök
Far beyond all mortal sight,
Lies the land where the gods will fall,
Where cascades the aurora bright.
Under the unearthly light,
From his bonds the wolf will crawl,
Far beyond all mortal sight.
Grand warriors of great height,
March from Freyja’s hall,
Where cascades the aurora bright.
Cloaked by invincible night,
Sails the ship of Loki tall,
Far beyond all mortal sight.
Knowing all he does is right,
For the Æsir will Odin call,
Where cascades the aurora bright.
With gaping jaws will Fenris bite,
And Surtr’s giants the gods will stall,
Far beyond all mortal sight.
Till the end of this fated fight,
In fire will the dark world pall,
Far beyond all mortal sight,
Where cascades the aurora bright.