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!
Nobody is perfect, yet you dream to be, An endless dream, which can never come true. There is something you dreamers fail to see, When you set your goals too high, the one who suffers is you.
Don't waste your time with regret, Don't waste it hoping to be a better you, There is something you seem to forget, You are who you are, and that will do.
Why focus on the flaws, when you are so much more as well, You might not notice, but the rest of us do. So when you claim that your life is a living hell, Remember it is you who are making this true.
Let's see here, hmm what to change ahh, here we go take this word out move that sentence here add a period here ooh, maybe a new line there extra words everywhere its getting better.
lets see how perfect this poem is now... HEY! that's not my poem! it sounds like crap! sigh. another poem ruined
The light of the sailing sun Glides across the plain Warming the morn as birdsong creeps out From the forest eaves Deep within the dappled pines Which cast shadows in hidden patterns Ever shifting as the sun moves onward Into the west where it briefly Kisses the lofty spires of jagged peaks Who's snow glistens like vast wealth A thing of pearl and mirthril And now, the sun sets Into the roaring ocean that At this moment As the sun cats its weary head Against the tempest pillow Does it, the sea, grow calm Only now, to end the day.
**Note: You take notice that the poem only has one period. Please be aware that this is intentional. The poem is not meant to stop until the end of the day, simply because the poem is a representation of the sun.
The young boy stands alone on the porch With teary eyes he smears the land Barren as if scamped by a torch An unyielding soil for a trifling demand And the grass grows green elsewhere But the little man just don't care
Spade in hand and hope in mind He turns the earth to which we owe Day and night he toils to grind The harsh ground so that he can sow Seeds of life and seeds of hope Seeds to push away the rope
As time flies a man blooms from the child Thinned from many unfruitful harvests But still he cares for the savage and wild Piece of earth that reaps his assets And though grass grows green elsewhere How could the tall man ever care
But comes a day when his backbone aches And his hands and feets and his resolves Are as thin and fragile as glass flakes A once strong soma reluctantly exolves For years a labor gone to waste And a damp and dusty aftertaste
On the brink of mortal existence The lone hermit finaly looked abroad And slowly crossed the large fence Walking hurriedly on the vivid road To a plain of strong and thriving grass where he laid down and rested his mass
Arched and broken the prideful son Slipped into a peaceful death For giving life was the work of an eon A work to take one man's last breath Rot in the life you wanted resurrected And bear the grief of the perfected
Quick one because I only realised a few hours ago that the theme had changed; I hadn't noticed since the thread's title had not been updated.
Unfortunately, I have no link to the source, but I know, I wrote something very.. very similar to this two years ago.
Unless it was published or you have an original copy to show then it isn't plagerism. Having someoneone write something similar by coincidence does happen.
Would you like someone to judge in your stead Parsat? I don't fit your shoes in terms of poetic knowledge, but surely someone would volunteer if you can't find the time to do it yourself; we wouldn't want you to be drowned in work right?
