Hey, I'm back to writing! This'll be the first poem I've ever written just
because I felt like it-if you could really call it a poem. I have a
feeling there's some sort of format you're supposed to follow for odes, but
oh well. I killed it, and threw its remains off a bridge.
This was inspired by the "Ode to" poems written by Velveteen. Go on, just look up the name and check them out. Ah, and it will be chock-full of spoilers. You have been warned!
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my ticket stubs.
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Ode to a Many-Armed Man
Oh restorer of balance!
Why dost thou like the pork so much?
Que lastima! The cook must be shot!
And the waitress
And Cheech
To return the order to Mexico.
The blood,
Though it drips of different lengths,
Lingers on your empty face.
Thou art higher than the great and glorious pocky,
Which I consume happily
As I think
And I wonder
And I sigh
At thy power over fake limbs
That dangle so perfectly from thy shoulder
As you vanquish thine enemies with ease.
Oh, where have all the cookies gone?
I have gathered them, in celebration
Of the mighty Sands
Maybe seeking medical attention
Someday.
Your greatness is not lessened by the bullet holes
Or the vast chasms
Of your eyes.
And I shall make a dinner for thee
But not a very good one
Lest you restore the balance,
Oh Keeper of Mexico.
This was inspired by the "Ode to" poems written by Velveteen. Go on, just look up the name and check them out. Ah, and it will be chock-full of spoilers. You have been warned!
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my ticket stubs.
**************************
Ode to a Many-Armed Man
Oh restorer of balance!
Why dost thou like the pork so much?
Que lastima! The cook must be shot!
And the waitress
And Cheech
To return the order to Mexico.
The blood,
Though it drips of different lengths,
Lingers on your empty face.
Thou art higher than the great and glorious pocky,
Which I consume happily
As I think
And I wonder
And I sigh
At thy power over fake limbs
That dangle so perfectly from thy shoulder
As you vanquish thine enemies with ease.
Oh, where have all the cookies gone?
I have gathered them, in celebration
Of the mighty Sands
Maybe seeking medical attention
Someday.
Your greatness is not lessened by the bullet holes
Or the vast chasms
Of your eyes.
And I shall make a dinner for thee
But not a very good one
Lest you restore the balance,
Oh Keeper of Mexico.