This, my friend, was part of an English project on the New England Rennaissance writers. My part of the project was to write an Antitranscendentalist poem based on the themes of Nathanial Hawthorne. Witness, sinful being, the fruits of my toil.
Even the sun is tinged with grey,
New-fallen snow caught unaware:
These branches full of unused grace
November wastes with fleeting care.
The strain of common sense unveiled
By social boundaries frequented,
Ponderous raindrops run rampant laps
Grounded by gravity undetected.
Man's engines run on blood and sweat:
Pure energy derived from air.
But death makes daily house arrests
To dominate who's bright, who's fair.
The consolation prize grows near -
A date with skybound song refrains;
Our destinies entwined by fate,
But only a bitter taste remains.
However bold we live this life
There lies a secret burning shame -
That is, no soul ever contains
Necessities to win this game.
Hehe, I told you I'd start rhyming sometime. Feel free to review, you poor ignorant creatures. [still in antitranscendentalist mode] ~EG