So I know it's been awhile since I've posted anything, but I've been finding less inspiration lately, and when I do I usually don't have pen and paper on me. I'm trying to fix that, starting with this poem.
Hey deiddle diddle,
How about a riddle?
Where oh where does beauty stop?
Why, I'll tell you, at the front door of every slop.
Bending over backwards for these demons,
Denying all others, all facts, all reasons.
They twirl and sing and dance about,
It's silly enough to make one shout.
Performing their best for naught but pigs,
Whose castles are built atop lies and twigs.
And oh those swine and hornèd fiends,
Do these poor ladies know what it means?
They believe themselves guests invited to a ball,
But it is really a great black kettle into which they all fall.
They are the main course, my friends, you see,
Eaten alive, for certain, yet none shall flee.
Entranced so greatly by their fell hosts,
Who seem so mighty by their pride and boasts.
So I stand outside, harking to all,
Hoping just one will hear my desperate call.
Alas, tonight, I yell and cry in vain,
So I leave you now to your almost certain pain.
