Saturday, July 9, 2011

Poem: A Sorcerer's Sick Idea of Fun

To the tomes of many days,
As we toy with that could eat us away.
To have fun with the sparks to the flying way of juggling the idea of the mind and what illegal to that of nature.
Despite the sins of the public's sense of true judgement.
What does it matter?
Lets have fun.

What kind of magic spell to use?
Slime and Snails?
Or Puppy dog tails?
Thunder or Lightning?
Some say frightening.
To the pulled strings of the mind.
Pinocchio skips in your body.
Evil Strings to hold you up.
What concoction to enact.
Poisons to acids.
Love potion Six.
Hate extent Seven.
Eighth time the charm.
Nine levels hell.
From who we can tell,
by very thin ice,
Thrice the times to study the years away.
What is it all for?
Stones of Flemel.
Jack of Diamonds.
Queen of Hearts.
Hearts were played around like toys.
Toys break easily.
Who cares?

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