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!
Here's a set of poems about religion. I got a political feel on the theme, and then though about how religion, especially corrupted, controls our lives.
Screaming out for life treated by misery, They corrupt your mind and destroy your dreams. Why is the question that sets us free, Makes us see what's not what it seems. Last dreams are whisked away, Your godless soul is here to stay.
Reality and fantasy never change, What we see will never die. If you do not believe in what is strange, Your very words are full of lies. No one believes you and no one will, All our bodies are through the mill.
Am I insane for what I believe, Or are you insane for lack of belief. You worthless child you deceive, You fill your family full of grief. You must fight for what is right, Go and die for eternal night.
Epidemic of our souls, Your godless soul will burn in hell. Your wretched kind fill the holes, This will stop those lies you tell. The broken cross, full of lies, It's ancient words, mans demise.
Your acid blood shall fill the sands, While I live in my darkness hell. My only child from Satan's lands, Only Jesus can make you well. My iron fist knows what is right, I will guide you to the light.
It's the string I used to sew the patches on the old denim vest; The one you wore to your first school dance was unique, Not like the rest.
It's the string I used to tie on to an old plastic shopping bag; We used it in the back yard and at the beach. Your first kite didn't fly very high, what a drag.
It was the strands of hair I had to cut with sissors; At Halloween, your first trick-or-treat with gum stuck, Everywhere, even your incisors.
It's the stings of the mandolin, you found one day; You asked me if I minded if you played. I showed you a few chords and you fell silent; You had nothing more to say.
These are but a few of my strings but before I go, I have one more string to share with you, though. It's the string I used to make ornaments for your first Christmas; I carefully crosstitched about a dozen or, so.
Moon, give it a try. I didn't know what in the world I was going to write until I started typing my poem. Why can't your poem be about music and the heart strings? Maybe you should draw a picture first?
I was, but then it would be too lovey dovey, or too musical lol. My poetry party of my brain has been overworked, so it is taking a break lol. I might do next weeks theme
Today is the deadline! Judging is one or two days after the deadline, guys. It's important to read the rest of the judging post besides the judging itself >_>
Hi there, I just discovered this community page and thought it looked interesting. I decided to give it a go. So go easy on me because it's the first poem I have ever written. I would love some constructive criticism. Cheers.
It cut into the depths, her words echoing into darkness, I dropped as a completed actor, back turned; I smiled.
This act of mine, unnecessary, yet essential. As she weeps I do, A sideshow mirror distorting the pure, and then, she leaves.
Finally I can be mine, the marionette is cut free.
