Originally Posted by
Supergyration!
At eve, the moonbeams sliding softly in between the leaves, is all the light Del Murder needs for writing poetry. Plucking a pen from the writer’s tree, Del’s senses prick as unfamiliar vibrations caress his eardrum. It is eestlinc, and the epic battle of the poets has begun.
There are bike sheds. Unseen to a passer-by, but all too familiar to I Am Stoner, where behind them he found the one light he needed to start writing. Not too far away, possibly slightly aroused by the aroma wafting hazily on the breeze, Jack’s pen touches paper for the first time this today. From there, the words flow like dolphins, diving in and out of the paper, ‘cos he’s trippin’ hardcore.
It is under the same light of day that nik0tine sits down, his soul weighed down by his Mohawk, and summons multiplicities of demons and other hellish beings too foul to mention. It is now he asks for guidance from these demented creatures, and such a union brings evil to something so beautiful as poetry. Algebra.
Meanwhile, in an ancient pathway far beneath the earth’s surface, a pen more ancient than time itself is clicked by its monolithic master, Necronopticous. For the first time in what could be a billion years if anyone could count that high, words are written to astound and impress the general populace of this, human world.
As if oblivious to what ancient poetry writing techniques are taking place thousands of miles under the earth’s crust, the intoxicating Miss_Lulu becomes a minstrel for the people of the day, pleasing all with her words intertwined in mystification.
Despite all this, please don’t forget that poetry is for pansies and real men would be out there chopping up wood or building something, and none of them compare to Dragonforce.
Posting Permissions
