|This Poem is Epic, A Tale of Two Sophomores
Author: RandomUser674 PM
An epic poem, well, a slightly long poem, written for my friend's birthday over a year ago. Some material may be unsuitable for children. For Julia.Rated: Fiction T - English - Humor/Friendship - Words: 732 - Reviews: 1 - Published: 09-29-11 - Status: Complete - id: 2956721
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
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.