This Poem is Epic: A Tale of Two Sophomores

Lo and behold how the ever-changing winds

of time have brought upon us a new year.

A new year brings new memories to be made,

and old memories to be cherished. Old memories

rekindle smiles of the distant past.

.

Sing for me, my angel of poetry, and spin me a tale

of two sophomores thrust together by fate.

A time when all was fresh, a time of transitioning,

and a time to build friendships to last forevermore.

Two students from rivaling schools, united

under a backward ceiling of a lost auditorium.

.

Could a Gelinian befriend a Murphite?

Could a Murphite try the same? Such thoughts

were before unheard of, considered absurdly insane,

a mortal sin, a betrayal of loyalty to one's family.

.

But alas! the two prevailed. Two girls, so alike

in thought, two halves of a whole mental patient,

a shared soul of the criminally insane, did find

happiness in one another. The hands of destiny

brought them together on the hallowed Cast List,

and thus the future was sealed.

.

A beautiful soprano, so twisted and mischievous,

a sexy beast one might say, and an alto-trapped-in

-Mezzoland-help-please-get-me-out, did prowl backstage

with a sketchbook in hand for hours on end, discussing

the lives of imaginary people in the greatest detail.

.

A tool and her whore, only with the distant music

to ground them to reality. Their minds were off in

Kukriia, alongside torturers and winged citizens,

where nobody could venture but them. Zombies

plagued their minds as well, and they feverishly

began to plan a romantic musical horror.

.

The days came and went, so quickly slipping by,

and the two grew ever closer. But, soft! then

came Max. Literally. Such an innocent mistake,

a slip of the tongue, really. But things were never

quite the same after Max came. Innuendoes were

plentiful, almost too much to take at once. O, the

things they did to Max! A male prostitute with a

plant fetish, the unspeakable things he has done.

.

A new decade dawned, but the two remained

faithful to each other, right down to the body butter.

The tool's day, no matter how dreary, would

instantly brighten in the two minutes she could

spend in Sopranoland with her specimen.

.

And the time trickled by. The soprano sang a solo

in a long black gown, and the alto-still-trapped

-help-me marveled at the sound of her voice

echoing in a room holding its breath. In the

springtime they rode a long and interesting

bus ride to see a show. How thoughts of torture,

bestiality and fits of laughter entertained them!

.

A day in May, they slipped out of their sleeping

houses at three in the morning, setting off to school

in black gowns, ninjas of the opera flitting through

the night. Another long and interesting bus ride

did happen on this day. Singing in a cyclopean church,

O, how the sound was carried!

.

Walked then the soprano on the shore, still clothed

for an opera. A black figure against the open sea,

her sable dress billowing in the salty wind. A rifle for

a military fetish did satisfy, as did a rainbow cape for

a queer Queer. The soprano did sleep so soundly beside

the alto-gone-mezzo, a beauty in slumber as well as in day.

.

Soon after, Death gave pep-talks to his son, and a song

so sweetly sung persuaded an alto not to give up. Walking

the halls of the school in a tuxedo and a ball gown,

attracting many stares from passerby, they did haunt

the chorus room with a stunning performance.

.

And still the time did pass. A new year has begun.

Two juniors, reunited in art, the fire of their camaraderie

burning ever-bright. Gelinas and Murphy, that has

come and gone. The future is what matters now.

This comely rose, and her perverted friend,

shall prevail in amity that will never end.

This has a LOT of inside jokes. I wrote it over a year ago for my friend's birthday. Time has passed so quickly. I wonder if she even kept it. She means so much to me. Clinging to the past while the present drags you away isn't a good idea. But alas, I never follow my own advice. For Julia.