=Misfit And while it's true that were it not for those     Who prefer day jobs to just scribbling prose —     Who seek stability or future means <blockquote style="margin-top:0px">By producing, marketing, or counting their beans —</blockquote>     This <i>great</i> world of ours could not continue     To do all the <i>great</i> things that it must do, I have never fit within that schema: <blockquote style="margin-top:0px">To me, practicality is anathema.</blockquote> =Pennings from a Peevish Mood (or: The PMS Pennings) <h4>Irony</h4> I hate and hate and hate some more That I don't have my way; You spoke of love but never swore You'd love me <i>every</i> day. Yet had you pledged eternally, I might have just disproved, And still I'm hurt deplorably; To "always" you weren't moved. <h4>False Introspection</h4> Do I regret? Would I forget? No, not a one. Now where's that gun? <h4>Afterword</h4> If yesterday, she was a queen, Today, she feels a fool; If once afloat on clouds she'd been, She's now the back end of a mule. For love, she'd do most anything; She saw no greater cause. But when love ended, it would bring Such chagrin that it gave her pause. =A Sonnet (Attempt) for a Bubble A glimmering orb came into being With no warning before my eyes; I felt charged with a wondrous feeling To behold this exquisite prize. As if crafted from the purest glass, This glistening ball was wholly clear, Yet it reflected the present, past, And future, like a spectral seer. It revealed the past with compassion; The present, illumined with hope; The future fulfilled aspirations Of bliss: we'd be able to cope. But though vastly tempted by that sphere, I feared it'd burst if I drew near. =Snippets on a Common Myth <h4>i.</h4> The Devil, angels, God, and men,... I know the lore quite well. Christian teachings shaped my views, But I'm not afraid of Hell. <h4>ii.</h4> Forget the Hell of brimstone and ash; Forget the Hell of eternal fires. Hell is this life of nonsense and trash; Hell is frustrated desires. <h4>iii.</h4> I have heard renowned scholars say That we're the only beings who know we'll die. To this, here's my repartee: We're just the only ones who know and cry. <h4>iv.</h4> Just what could God have been thinking To create such flawed beings in His image? He must have been daft or drinking, Or towards Himself feeling quite savage. <h4>v.</h4> It isn't that God molded man, But God that is man's conscious invention; Religion's but an ancient convention To divine how the world began. =Mellia Some choose to appeal to droll Thalia, While it seems others would exalt Melpomene; But I have resolved to combine the two And worship my own muse of tragicomedy. Mellia, I've named my invented muse, This one goddess who inspires both mirth and woe. All that I create is in her tribute; And all my endeavors do her influence show. =<a href="./pnotes.html#bridge">The Bridge</a> In eight months' time we built a bridge Over a deep imposing sea; Across this comprehensive rift, We forged a sound affinity. It started with a quirk of fate, When we both laid our first twigs down. But since then we have never stopped Raising the bridge up from the ground. In time, the span was reinforced From wood to stone to solid steel; Now it stands, a great testament, To our regard a stalwart seal. And though this bridge cannot be seen By anyone but you and me, We know it's there, that joining beam, Across the wide dividing sea. =<a href="./pnotes.html#ranabs">Random Absurdity</a> The Devil came to visit me; For tea he said he'd stay. He praised my hospitality, My passive-gracious way. He tried to hold a dialogue, But I had scant to say, So he became a pedagogue As on my couch he lay. He lectured about politics, In which he had much sway. Next, he turned to economics, But saw I was blasé. He spoke then of his time in Hell Where he had passed the day. He told me his job was to sell Seats to a sold-out play. I laughed aloud and patted him; He frowned to show dismay. I said I was due at the gym; He shrugged and went away. =Heartless Love When I espy how lovers lie — How ladies lead on men who try To win their love through gifts they buy, How men make gentler ladies cry When for new loves they bid good-bye — With pity for their prey I sigh. =No Blood Relation — A lady, very vain and shallow, Exhorted me to embrace the Christ; This same lady liked to drown her sorrows In fine clothes and cars, all highly priced. This myopic lady had to believe That she would live on in Paradise; Afraid of dying, she'd her self relieved: Death was no end, for she clung to Christ. Call me pagan, but I could not endure Preachings from one so acquisitive; And if hellbound I am, I'm also sure So's she, with motives so limited. =A Thought When I am dead and my ashes dispersed, What will anyone say of me? Will my words, name, or memory be cursed? Would I live on in infamy? No, what's far more likely to happen first: No one'll even remember me.