First, I will post the overall rules, and then I will post the specifics about this week.
Original rules, as stated by Ubertuna:
It must fit the week's theme. It must be submitted by the deadline. It cannot have inappropriate language in it. It cannot be stolen (if you plagiarize, we will find you).
Also:
The poem must be created for this contest A user cannot win two weeks in a row (though everyone is welcome to submit every week!) Only one submission per user will be accepted
As we all know, the winner will recieve a merit, and their poem will be featured on the _Poetry_ page.
OK, on to this week's topic...Again, we are having a style instead of a theme. Also, this week we are having TWO WEEKS to do it, instead of the usual one. Why? Because this will be an EPIC poem. Or, rather, a parody of an epic poem. Generally, epic poetry is very long, and tells the serious story of a heroic figure. Well, this week, the epic figure is YOU! Write a long poem (I'll leave the definition of 'long' up to you, but give it a good go) about the heroic story of you! It can be silly, serious, whatever... just have fun with it. You have two weeks, so have a great time!
I traced a long path through the jungle but my directions led me astray. Caught in a vine, it was I who was tangled it was I who did not know the way. Lost, calling to the clouds and hoping I stumbled, blind, confused and groping.
It was his heart that seemed to need help his fashion which I could not grasp. Something dark and terrible deep down dwelt in the depths of my own hoarse gasp. This road that I had drawn out, is no more the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow that is only a myth, told to open greed's door when was there a compass that could so richly endow the seeker with such sublimity of soul and mind Therefore, I say, my atlas is behind this ancient time.
Ah, the thirty second poem. Not the best. I had fun though.
the pursuit of perfection has become the obsecion of the old man who seeks only gold to find stones that glitter and gems that shimmer his heart has grown cold over many hes ages stolen and snaked his way to behold a wealth so grand that no mortal man could stand so tall but as you may know a man of gold shall come to hold a heart of worthless stone in the pursuit perfection he found a direction that was not as intended the weight of gold is enough to some rise to find and defend it but for the old man the gold in his was worth the life of the land he gave his own for for another gem stone but in the end his heart of stone still lay cold
The map to perfection is hard to find, Once found it is hard to read It is ciphered Crinkled Torn Stained And the spot with which the end is to be is blurred It has been folded over times too many The one to last have it Is long gone by now For it has not been seen Since the time of the golden age And even then, not one perfect man nor woman Lived on this Earth
I've asked Nichodemus to judge this round, and any rounds after it. If you have any questions, comments, or concerns regarding the change of management, take it up with him.
So I think I go down in history as having the shortest tenure as a judge for this contest.
There's no use in having a due date in the title if there's no due date to begin with.
The new theme will be 'Map to Perfection', due whenever enough poems have been submitted to make a worthwhile judging pool, or a significant amount of time lapses.
I think it's safe to say that this contest has grown too ambiguous for me to be a part of.
Kind cartographer, Is it perfection you seek? Does it not faze you? You cannot seize the future And document it Without dire consequences. Take the light, you may. You cannot map the darkness Or the truth within. May you map what lies beneath? I answer you nay. Time itself, for what it seems, Is concrete as sand You may try and capture it By prehending it Or catching it in a jar Or bottling it up If you are daring enough But try and map it You may as well have a gun Pointed to your skull.
