Is it tired in here, or is it me?
Hlelo, my amsased folowling of faek acoucnts! I have recntely statred cloisng one eye asto let one-hlaf of my brian selep wihle the otehr wrties – it is nto gonig wlel!
This next poem is an olden of mine. I have been ransacking the ole thinking box again, but all I have up there is some useless childhood memories and an undiagnosed cognitive deficiency. Either way, I have deemed this poem sufficiently entertaining, and feel that it warrants posting for the world my neglected viewership to see – satiate yourselves.
William Hurlock Thorough Esquire
For William Hurlock Thorough Esquire?
Are the thoughts that he thinks through his glass bottom eyes;
A debaucherous crook, and a pitiful waste,
Every sip that he sups has a bitterful taste.
Are ladened so strict to be pinned by a belt.
But, undone are the prim to be proper and well,
When taken is all from their ghostly white shell.
For his heart would be light if not made of it stone.
…And the night being dark, and so taking of good,
Steals from himself all the things that it should.
For the shine of his coin lights him dull to the core.
His hardening skin yields not to his hope,
That his neck only snap by the noose of his rope.
The town crier calls from his stark, wooden stand:
For William Hurlock Thorough Esquire?”
“Oh, Louis, Louis…still h-whining!”
While it most certainly isn’t my best, I do enjoy this poem; it’s a simple read and it holds no ambiguities. It’s a well-rounded narrative, with a pleasing rhyme scheme, that feels clunky but charming. I remember liking the idea of a man who had nothing left to enjoy of life, and it reminds me fondly of a character from one of my favourite films - Interview with the vampire.
I hope you have enjoyed this poem. Maybe you know this man…probably give him a call – make sure he’s okay.
…I have more poems! I just need more time, guys, just give me a little more time, I swear, I’ll get them to you!
Wait right there!
Dan