Poem!!

[Ishmayeck]

Yeah, I wrote it.

I like the pie that is absent in the destruction of humanity.
A pheasent I see, it isn't possible, yet he persisteth.
Fear unto the pheasant be, for a creature of great danger is he,
With his claws of iron and a sphere of steel in a certain place.

Who gives a crap about anything that is relative to the ripped doorknob?
As the snow falls, I'm in a total sway. Then it comes for me. I resist...
Belief is like a crutch that treads upon the world, and this is not a yarn.
And yet continues the snow to fall, unhindered by my diabolical prose.

If cotton balls were less spherical than pickles, perhaps then
Things would be different from a job application.
As it is, nested X servers aid in development of applications.
Theis eyes are cold and shrouded in an unforgiving shroud.

Soon I will search for you from the light, fell'd are the days
When the unordered masses that are brains not ordered or constrained
By the theological order we and you call Society, roamed amongst
And controlled all the massive populous of the Lemming hordes.

They come from the underworld, there they say "bless you" for laughing.
Hentai is not outlawed there, but vowels are slurred by all who stand tall.
I churn the butter, but alas; the power of the churned butter is frail
And insufficient to prevent the hordes of Lemming from crossing over

Into this Universe. I have failed! Woe unto me. My eyes and arms will now be
As punishment, by my superiors, carefully duct taped. Then shall
The tape, the ripping begin. Removal of tape from skin, that lives eternally
From the ameoba and the single-celled organisms. Pain, my neurons suggest.

But yet the butter churner was not defeated. As the Lemmings rush onto the bridge,
I swiftly pull the Spacetime from under their fuzzy, cute bunny slippers.
Salvation! Our Universe does not fall to ashes and chaos this day.
My superiors rejoice! I take this opportunity to gouge their eyes out with a

Meat Cleaver. They laugh, they applaude my act and its glorious execution
But I feel were they not blind, thusly and being to be afraid for their lives be,
They would attach me possibly to a rocket with Krazy Glue, and with a laser
Blow me from the sky 'fore the coronasphere of the Sun I reached.

Now as the buffer begins to overflow, a crisis is sounded by the butcher.
Why have you called me here! I have no death wish! But the burglar,
Was by then long gone. For with his rather disproportionately long nose
He could smell the authorities, and sniff them. In certain places they would object.

I continue in my quest to search for the finding of what the meaning is
Of a stack heap corruption; perhaps my overly active and vivid imagination
Created an entire sub-order of errors that it swaps at random with the actual
Errors that are in reality there. Perhaps; but all is relative, even the tuna.




~+Ishmayeck+~

[Gatedialer]

yay Ishy is back on teh forums!

[Phoenix of Terra]

The seven phases of poetry shock.

[Ishmayeck]

Yays, I is loved

Yeah... more poems like it are on the way, and maybe a novel of similar randomness


~+Ishmayeck+~