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!
As I look into the water, All that I see Is my angry face, Glaring back at me.
I look determined, But I feel my own fear. All I have to do, Is jump down from this pier.
I can't look to the sky Because I don't want to worry about my salvation, Isn't taking my own life Condeming me to ****ation?
Oh no Here I go Wondering about what is next. Is there a way to say that I am afraid? Without having some one coming in to invade On my poor little pity parade? I can't remeber the last time I prayed.
But this is why I want to leave So I don't have to wonder. If this next life really exists.
After I stop unclenching my fists, I jump off the rail, and start to fall. I hit the water, with a sound as loud as thunder. Hoping it was heard by all.
As I lose my sensory feelings, One clear thought screams through my head. I'm going under and there is nothing I can do. Nothing I want to do. Nothing to be done. I guess I lost in the long run
Because all I see is black I don't hear a voice, Trying to call me back. I don't feel my self being lifted or pulled To heaven or hell. There goes my shot at figuring it out. Seems usless now to think, Oh well.
I feel myself fading away Not even darkness Just a generic shade of grey. So this is what it boils down to. Nothing in itself. Let me fade off with this last adieu.
Hold it! Due to my stupidity and an odd problem with Gmail's automatic forwarding, I didn't get the proper theme memo. The theme, as decided by wolf, should be "New Beginnings." :P Apologies to those of you who already submitted.
Well I don't want people to waste their submissions. We'll have the theme I picked be next week's theme. Do not panic people we shall continue with the teme Parsat has decided on, which is REFLECTIONS
Oh pale undrawn breath that shall never be, What have you become? A working of links; Naught but chains. Your gaze has met an eye more subtle, A voice more melodious than yours, a heart That still beats in time with life given. You now gaze into an indifferent sky, as the wind Caresses the skin that once felt, the lips that once Tasted the kiss of a lover. And the heart of the sea Beats on, while your heart has ceased all beatings.
You are but one link in an imperfect chain. A chain That tried to cirumference the world. And failed. Does it not sting you? Even beyond the reach of such feeling? Does it not reach into that dead heart of yours And steal the last stubborn will that I know has not yet died Regardless of the fact that you have stopped all living? You tried to rule, and have fallen. You tried...
But what of your triumphs? Oh what triumph is there in death? Should we all bow our heads? Should we look to see you rise? I think not. Your cold gleam has now be cast aside. Into the shadows from which it sprung, and took out hearts Like some ravenous beast that longed for feeding, Despite already being fed. You twisted us into your slaves, Made us wear chains of our own making, brought the clash Of swords and the cries of widows to our very homes, Seen proud men march off under the burdern of you expectation. And yet. You claimed it was not enough. The fire of war must be fed, so you declared! Declared! For the whole world to hear. For everone to be subjugated, To bow to your throne of lies and imperfection. And you ask to speak of triumph.
Dead lips may not move, but well do I hear your voice. It whispers false assurance into my ear. It tells me That you will rise in the guise of another. That all I say to your dead form is to no avail, That the sea shall indeed dream of you, and so be content. But, you are as mad in death, as you are in life. Cruel King of Chains, I once knew than man you were, No longer. A corpse is all I see now, and all your imperfection Is revealed to my ever keen eye. And this I know, dear brother. The sea shall not dream of you. Not now, nor ever.
Ticking on the mantelpiece Cleaving away ribbons of age As if they were soft fleece; Countless writings on a page
A war of thought to gaze upon Is what you wrought from lands undrawn; A clash of skies and lands alike To confound both sides of the glass Stomp them hard the nails of present That circle the edges of the coffins Coffins made for well taught thoughts And reflections of what is and what if
Ticking on the mantelpiece In a iron frame is contained A countless amount of mirrors All in the embrace of twelve numbers
Admittedly, the deadline was a quick one, but I was prepared for only a few submissions. This theme is "New Beginnings" indeed, as determined by the poet of last month, wolf1991. The deadline for this theme is January 11, 2011. I'll have the judging for last in a short time.
Trudging along across a small stream, Look down below me and see something gleam, It looks a bit like me, So I decided to see.
Went up closer, Chill behind my spine, Looked up into the water, saw the face was mine.
I got scared, but I didnât care. Jumped into the stream. But it was empty it seems.
This was great, but not finding it, I started to hate. Where are you I called? Nothing, answered just some rock fall.
I dived back down, Came up, face with a frown. I was now wet, and I canât find this guy I bet.
Suddenly, out from a tree, came a girl. She said, what you have seen, In the stream, Was a pure crazy dream. It is you in the water, but it is not a person, In the years to come, It will be noticed more by some.
Trudging along across a small stream, Look down below me and see something gleam, It had a beautiful face, A person, clearly filled with grace. He had a terrific smile, You could see itâs width, back from a mile. His eyes, I seemed to recognise. His nose, It was as red as a rose. His cheeks, Always looking really bleak. Then, I started into the eyes, Which was when I began to realise, They were mine, It sent a chill down my spine. I began to see, this person was me. It was a reflection.
