Posted by Ansellius on October 25, 2000 at 19:24:29:
In Reply to: Poem with nothing really to do with CF, but I need to share it. posted by The Fallen Down One on October 25, 2000 at 16:55:01:
> S'not that bad of a poem, really.
> Enjoy before it gets deleted.
>
> RIME OF THE MODERN DAY LOSER
> Part I
> Twas twilight time and along strolled I
> Through ye old Radioshack
> And what ho, behold what’s this
> This being doth take me aback!
> Tis a modern Loser
> Looks aloft from his PC
> “By Thy Pimply Face & Greasy skin
> wherefore stop’st thou me?”
> For no time have I for a loser like this
> For I have drinks to drink
> And dances to dance in my stylish pants
> And yon gent, he verily stinks
> Yet he holds me fast with his nerdy hand
> “I’m so alone” quoth he
> “Then find ye a girl, or even a squirrel,
> hands off nerd, let me be”
> And so he turns, his face downcast
> Returns to yon PC
> And away I walk, my face distraught
> Trying to vanquish the memory
> Part II
> I fear thee modern loser!
> I fear thy ghastly looks!
> I loathe thy skin all papery thin
> From too many days in books
> Thin blotchy face, like bloodstained lace
> Doth repulse all that dar’st pass by
> With a shudder and sneer, they all steer clear
> Uncaring of the sorrow in thine eye
> And blast thine eyes, thine quick reading eyes,
> Doth shine with unholy light
> From staring too long upon thine monitor
> Too late and too many a night
> And thus he sits there everyday
> Till he doth leave for school
> This modern definition of a modern day nerd
> This sad pathetic fool
> And alone he stands for time eternal
> A blink in the eyes of the world
> But what ho, to me lads methinks we’ll see
> This Loser’s tale unfurled
> Part III
> And so our subject doth awaken from a fitful night of sleep
> Almost every morn
> No dreams of love or life or hope do visit him
> But visions most forlorn
> And from the bed, our loser springs,
> His eyes both clear and bright
> And creeps doth he down morning halls
> Past windows dancing with light
> And thus his day it doth begin with hope springing anew
> But outside the realm of his knowledge,
> Lies what will be, and this he shall see
> Upon this loser’s arrival at College
> Part IV
> And so off our Loser Goeth, toward the center of his learning
> Away with other thought!
> For his education shall be his future
> Though he fear’s tis all for naught
> Ah! Well a-day! What evil looks doth he get from students young and olde!
> For truth be told, this loser doth,
> Though his fortunes may be slim,
> Set the curve on all the tests, causing classmates to spite him
> Day after day, day after day
> He doth not raise commotion
> Just takes a look and pulls out his book
> And returns to his magic reading potion
> For reading doth a true nerd love, all times that he is able
> For in books one can rise above his mortal coil of sorrow
> And in a book, a loser finds love and things he only dreams of
> For these wonderful things- these things called books!- They know no sad tomorrow
> And thus our loser passes time
> For time is all he has
> And thus our loser sees life go by
> But is content to let it pass
> Part V
> Howe’er our loser doth behold a light approach his dark abode
> In his mind tis light of love
> And love before yon eyes doth pass
> As wind through trees in times long past
> For love for thee, thou loser sad It is one thing thou shalt not know
> For thine countenance so bad, thy outlook oh so poor
> Doth deter any who would
> Return thy love, and to thee love is as gold to the poor
> Yet still thine eyes grow bright and shine
> With light from deep within thee
> And like none other thou hast been smitten
> By love as if a mockery
> For love doth tread on snow white legs
> And lips of purest red
> Hair of gold and eyes of blue
> Doth circle in thine head
> And swim they do for swim they must
> For love to thee is fleeting
> And turn away, for every day
> Within thee pain is feasting
> For thine love hath been taken
> And molded to fit around
> This purest maiden of golden hair
> Which doth not see thine frown
> Oh sorrow of sorrows is the love
> That never has been spoken
> And vanity of vanities, good sir
> Is the heart that’s ne’er been broken
> And another day doth pass and his love grows none the nearer
> For when she’s gone, yon loser groans in spirit and in heart
> Tis better by far, that she should go
> Than he be further torn apart
> Part VI
> And thus concludes yon losers day, and journeys home once more
> And with cloudy mind and head of gloom
> He returns one more day removed
> From his sweet love, his sweet sweet love that sha