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've had too much to drink tonight; Too much has made me blind. Some how I never see the light, This lonely way I wind. But I hurt myself, bleed myself, Drain until I resemble the colors of the sea: Imperfect harmony.
But still I'd wait in line for this. I'll always wait in line for this. __________ From meh thread. :3
A perennial gale of creative destruction, As astutely claimed by Schumpeter, Heralding a redefition of foundations, Brazenly he sallies forth, our trumpeter.
See the haughty French Connoisseur, Sniff and quaff nouveau American liquor, His plump oriental Turkish neighbour, Plants a splendid Christmas douglas fir.
See the proud Chinese gentleman, Quietly order a hamburger for his son, Right behind the hunched British war veteran, Chewing sagely on exotic herbal medicine.
See the spiffily dressed Iranian banker, Sweating over his Russian grammar, His friend the buoyant Mexican pastor, Hums a pop song, tapping his fingers.
Wave away those parochial purists, The world is not a rigid copper mould, Checked by hysterical moralists, Each lacking a sophisticated soul.
For culture embraces and not shuns, Dynamic people bouncing off ideas, Behold, it encompasses everyone, Yes, even that insular deacon.
There is naught a single save haven, An isolated community or mighty nation, Concrete and staunch enough to withstand, This evolving marvel's outstretched hands
