[split] The Nothing

[shemthepenman]

Ah yes a child with a gun.

Since it will not matter what I say, I give you a poem for my rebuttal.


Wordsworth

Youth returns not at the ticking of the clock:
nor Passion its ship again brings to dock.
Unnoticed has Lust gently faded away,
just as did spring, summer has not stayed,
nor shall He return upon another day!
When the blush has faded off the bloom,
and life is now in the evening gloom
of this ancient heart’s approaching doom
in my ears the resounding tock.
I the last, with balding head and graying locks,
find no reprieve or hope of salvation.
---------------------------------------------------------

Ironic, laconic, iconic, despondent,
so weary and dreary and old.
At the turn of a phrase to be forward and bold
and make young girls crave,
this flesh, “I” with one foot in my grave,
they offer nothing to tempt me.

Samuel, Robert, my old friends
we were you know ‘til the end - you mean till, of course
it’s just the end came to soon,
it was not even noon
when you found your Brigadoon
and left me here alone.

Then new friends I found,
I gathered them ‘round,
but then Percy drown,
Lord George Gordon also went down,
with and to the Greeks.
Then also gone was Keats,
and once again I am the last
and the least.

Was I prophetic, or was it a slip of the tongue,
When I wrote, “only the good die young?”
I linger on, while they are done.
I sit here amongst my gold plated dung,
these medals around my neck are hung.
Lacking in nothing but the slightest lust
my gold shrivels into bullion of rust.
Better to have already been dust
than a Robin without his good fellows.

Thou Good fellow great Robin Puck,
“Flower of the purple dye,” pluck,
then call to your Lord Oberon
and bid him let us be gone.
Let us board the ship to Avalon,
where my friends have already fled.

There, I can rekindle my long dead fire
now I the craft my words to inspire.
As the whirlwind within builds ever higher,
I care not if it is my funeral pyre.
Weave the circle round me thrice
one time alone will suffice.
Then let it truly be said,
he on greatness at last has fed,
before he lay down his head,
and entered into paradise.

–Erthona


©2005-2015