Hey all! I have slowly collected a pile of poetry in the recent weeks...so I thought I'd share some. All of this is mentally copyrighted, and if you copy it without permission *glare* I shall hunt you down.
The expanse of the heavens is ever veiled
By towers scraping 'neath its blue
But give me a hill, an vast, open field
And the majestic sky shall look anew.
Ivory keys to a polished gleam,
Enclosed in lacquered old wood,
Decorated by frames of cream,
On short, stubby legs it stood.
This next poem is rooted in inspiration I found in G. K. Chesterton. He writes, "A maniac is someone who has lost everything but his reason." because, "A poet is someone who wants to get his head in the heavens. A philosopher is someone who wants to get the heavens in his head. And it is his head that splits."
There was a poet, a strange man
Most call them crazy, you see;
He wrote with inky pen on paper tan
And lived on a street called Lee.
Contrary to belief, however, he was normal:
He went about his business every day
Dressed up in tie and suit, formal
And had a normal house in which to stay.
Across the street lived another man
A logician, a debater, philosopher too
He lived in a house of a normal tan,
And like to eat fish and rice stew.
This man, though, had lost all lucidity of thought:
His mind had long gone far out of season
His nerves were high, his system shot,
He had lost everything but his reason.
This example just goes to show
Those with imagination are not insane
But rather it is those who 'know'
Whose minds burst beneath mental strain.
So if you are imaginative, good job!
You'll probably last longer than most
But 'tis the logicians' minds that throb,
Not those who dance with the flow'st.
I sneaked (snuck?) a flow'st in there. ;) Mwahahaha!