Post by Fang on Mar 2, 2006 21:03:28 GMT -5
Ode to Paper
O, stare at him brightly, stirring his thoughts,
You are a fresh leaf, floating on
By, caring not for the victims of your stare,
Carrying on merely by whim.
A wise man’s mind you do wrack,
A feverish mind racing for domes of pleasure,
Only to be forgotten while watching you,
Enraptured by your music, his muse
Under your control, pushing down, down, down,
Into the pits of despair, the darkness of unoriginality.
What secrets do you keep struggling? What happy
Thoughts reside deep within? Oh, be fair!
Make me your master, I implore you,
Allow my thoughts flow across, penned
Down, word for word. Who better than I
To scrawl my name across your open face?
If I walk do I not bleed? Are my steps too Dark?
Too Deep? Give me leave to stroll freely!
O, hark! Do you not hear the mind reel?
Do you not see the flash of inspiration? Upon
Virgin soil does his mind tread, dreaming of
The lands of Xanadu and the river Alph.
A vision of a dream transcribed,
to the rhythm of that dulcimer beat.
_____________
Haven't worked on it for awhile (it was a school asignment: make a romantic poem about an object) but it's on my long 'to do list'. If you get the reference congratulations: You are well read.
O, stare at him brightly, stirring his thoughts,
You are a fresh leaf, floating on
By, caring not for the victims of your stare,
Carrying on merely by whim.
A wise man’s mind you do wrack,
A feverish mind racing for domes of pleasure,
Only to be forgotten while watching you,
Enraptured by your music, his muse
Under your control, pushing down, down, down,
Into the pits of despair, the darkness of unoriginality.
What secrets do you keep struggling? What happy
Thoughts reside deep within? Oh, be fair!
Make me your master, I implore you,
Allow my thoughts flow across, penned
Down, word for word. Who better than I
To scrawl my name across your open face?
If I walk do I not bleed? Are my steps too Dark?
Too Deep? Give me leave to stroll freely!
O, hark! Do you not hear the mind reel?
Do you not see the flash of inspiration? Upon
Virgin soil does his mind tread, dreaming of
The lands of Xanadu and the river Alph.
A vision of a dream transcribed,
to the rhythm of that dulcimer beat.
_____________
Haven't worked on it for awhile (it was a school asignment: make a romantic poem about an object) but it's on my long 'to do list'. If you get the reference congratulations: You are well read.