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!
Didn't know what to write at first, until I thought of the end of summer and the situation I feel I'm in.
Times Never Change
When summer came in childhood days, We became children of the sea. One of those games we'd always play Was tossing in a little key, And waiting 'til it sank below: Just waiting, waiting, waiting more And wond'ring why it fell so slow, Until, at last, it hit the floor. Then we would fly from land to air, And change to pencils, cannonballs. From sunny sky to water fair, We'd search along the blue-white walls, Or down the middle to the deeps, Sweeping left and sweeping right, Drawing breath with quickish leaps, Through a foggy goggle-sight. And he or she who found the goal Up close could simply snatch it quick; But from afar, a stealthy role Was needed to prevent their pick. Oh! What a joy it was when I was young! When keys I sought were literal, When under waves I'd have some fun, Not find it was subliminal.
But now I flounder in a sea Of grown responsibility.
This is where the title goes The poem is further down below
Listen closely and you'll hear The cries of seamen from the pier The noblemen who sacrificed The very essence of their life It is not a tale of woe A mere warning from below
Each year the fleeting boats return To the ocean to roil and churn The feeble minds of commandeers Leaves a taste of dying tears Profit sought and profit gained But none to use for none remained
Children left on the shore Telling tales of grand rapport Their fathers battling 'gainst the tide For the purpose of some pride The truth of which they will not learn 'till they surrender what they yearn
A parade leaves earthen land Leaving past, present, sand Hoping to glean of a time Something past the threat of grime For when they venture past the eye There is not place to say goodbye
Floating on enclosed wood Given the rights a coffin should Surrender to the wroth of swell Before the chiming of the bell Marching, enveloped in the sea Left with ambiguity
This is not a tale of woe But a warning from below
------------------------------ Hey give me a break, I'm sick. I tried to break free from my usual form. Comments and critiques are welcome as always.
It is my guess that Alt has died to the hands of *almost absolute certainty the third*; I heard he was quite a fearsome and talented fighter. We will remember you as judgemaster Alt. Unless you want us to write *he who loved pudding*, or something like that on your grave...
