Sunday, February 14, 2010

This poem doesn't really scan, but I offer it up for your discerning amusement

I don't do poetry often, because a) I don't do it well, and b) I used to write the worst angsty teenage verse you could ever have the misfortune to read, full of woe and melancholy ruminations on the fleetingness of life and all that sort of thing.

But occasionally a scrap of verse seems to tangle well with itself and I think, 'hmmm'. So, anyway, here goes:


I used to be a high-flying angel
But they clipt my wings
After I slipped and sinned and fell

And tho’ now a broken earth-tied angel
Yet my crypt still sings
Heav’n’s secret songs, too sad too sweet to tell

(You can tell it's almost a 'proper poem' because words are spelt wrong and stuff. Ooh.)

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