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!
1. You have all heard the story in some shape or form. 2. Most themes have been broad lately. I am giving this narrow theme as a challenge to see what you can muster.
Oh he was dead, dead, dead as a door-nail; My right hand cut off, and brought back in chains, He warned me so thorough, thriving in pain, "Three ghosts will visit, heed their honest tale". In the rush of the night, the concealed wails sprung forthwith to show, morality's cane, a lurid model, purgatory's plane. My success was a veritable fail. At first, I had a glimpse into my past. Nostalgia plagued my ever-live senses, Then visited my clerk, seeking their grace, after that, theft, death, my own gravestone last. I awoke, slipping down stairs of staunch pence to spread Christmas cheer, prior not a trace.
"Repent! Repent! for death be soon upon ye! Thine wicked ways now lead ye down this path of sure destruction!" An ominous spirt cloaked in black called to me this eerie message. A harbinger of mine own death? Bah! What foolishness to believe.
But once again came a ghostly thing, to warn me of my awful fate. Pfft! Another tail of misery of my life!
Suddenly, I'm whisked away, to a place of a certain familiarity; 'tis my home but now in shamble and ruin. 'Tis not my future, is it?
I'm whisked yet once more; the old graveyard, dark and despairing. But one grave bears all my attention. I turn to see... Mine own name.
I awake, as if from some foul nightmare, at mourn it seems to be. But this dream it stays.
A young lad knocks at the door, the poor soul looks as if starving. A change in me compels me; I yell down to the child, "think fast" and drop down a bag, filled with coins.
