Post by Chukles38 on Mar 19, 2006 1:33:30 GMT -5
Outside the night was misty, foggy, gloomy dark.
One could hear the rabble and flying speeders park.
A building stood, towering above all the rest;
Looming above them all and declaring itself the best.
But careful and wary, must all those people be
That live inside the boundaries of this planet wide city.
For in his office, in the towering fortress of glass,
Sits the evil not dreamt of in any social class.
He sits in the shadows of the office of his rank;
The monitor on the desktop glaring, glooming, blank.
The doors burst open, and in stride saviors, numbered four in all,
To save this great and troubled city from the evils in these halls.
Many words are spoken, traded, and threats exchanged,
‘I am the senate” the wicked one proclaimed.
The saviors stood not for it, and drew their swords of light
And made ready with haste to stop this one from flight.
But surprised were they, at the power that one possessed
As he leapt, twirled, and slashed them to their deaths.
One remained, his purple blade shown bright,
Standing ready to fight, and save the city from its plight.
Events unfold and epic, many will often say,
Was the duel that occurred on that same day.
A battle is fought, and appears to be won
With the savior standing over the wicked and reviled one.
But careful, ‘For something wicked this way comes’*
But nothing is noticed as the purple saber hums.
A young one, much younger than the rest,
Approaches them, confident he knows the best.
His mind knows not, and construes things in its fashion,
And sees his friend, the abhorrent man, lying without passion.
He yells at the Hero, discounts his greater insight,
Exclaims, “I need him” and removes his tool in a fight.
In rage, agony, and blinded hatred of his world,
He turns his blade on our Hero, who had barely time to twirl.
His hand was lost, he yelled in pain, and ne’er saw it come,
The reviled one uses his magic and turn to a happy chum.
The lightning blasted our hero, forever ending his story,
As his body flew and made its way to a burial with no glory.
The young man knelt, too horrified to speak,
Whilst his soul let out a pained, unglorified shriek.
Our Villain, detested above all else, stood slowly
And gloried in the agony his new pupil showed so lowly.
He had won, and the young man was his completely,
To destroy all good and just in this fair, glass, city.
His apprentice, the young man was named,
And given a task for which he will always be famed.
The horrors of that night stopped not with the cruel falls,
Of the Heroes of this story, in those golden, bloody halls.
Children died, and innocents at heart as well,
At the hands of this man, once the Hero fell.
To the masters, teachers, tutors, and friends
Of this young man does the blame fall in the ends?
Does responsibility settle only on the one,
When others took part in what has since then gone?
Or is it all, who must bare the blame and hate,
From all those in the streets or is their such thing as fate?
For it is my belief that one man’s life, no more than a spec,
Or compares in size to a man as an insect.
For ne’er a story have I yet seen,
As this with such a dark, unwholesome glean.
A lesson, perhaps, we all might learn,
From this tale of sorry, which does now adjourn.
Ne’er close your mind, nor your heart as well,
Despite the trials faced as darkly the knell.
* Taken from Shakespeare's play MacBeth
One could hear the rabble and flying speeders park.
A building stood, towering above all the rest;
Looming above them all and declaring itself the best.
But careful and wary, must all those people be
That live inside the boundaries of this planet wide city.
For in his office, in the towering fortress of glass,
Sits the evil not dreamt of in any social class.
He sits in the shadows of the office of his rank;
The monitor on the desktop glaring, glooming, blank.
The doors burst open, and in stride saviors, numbered four in all,
To save this great and troubled city from the evils in these halls.
Many words are spoken, traded, and threats exchanged,
‘I am the senate” the wicked one proclaimed.
The saviors stood not for it, and drew their swords of light
And made ready with haste to stop this one from flight.
But surprised were they, at the power that one possessed
As he leapt, twirled, and slashed them to their deaths.
One remained, his purple blade shown bright,
Standing ready to fight, and save the city from its plight.
Events unfold and epic, many will often say,
Was the duel that occurred on that same day.
A battle is fought, and appears to be won
With the savior standing over the wicked and reviled one.
But careful, ‘For something wicked this way comes’*
But nothing is noticed as the purple saber hums.
A young one, much younger than the rest,
Approaches them, confident he knows the best.
His mind knows not, and construes things in its fashion,
And sees his friend, the abhorrent man, lying without passion.
He yells at the Hero, discounts his greater insight,
Exclaims, “I need him” and removes his tool in a fight.
In rage, agony, and blinded hatred of his world,
He turns his blade on our Hero, who had barely time to twirl.
His hand was lost, he yelled in pain, and ne’er saw it come,
The reviled one uses his magic and turn to a happy chum.
The lightning blasted our hero, forever ending his story,
As his body flew and made its way to a burial with no glory.
The young man knelt, too horrified to speak,
Whilst his soul let out a pained, unglorified shriek.
Our Villain, detested above all else, stood slowly
And gloried in the agony his new pupil showed so lowly.
He had won, and the young man was his completely,
To destroy all good and just in this fair, glass, city.
His apprentice, the young man was named,
And given a task for which he will always be famed.
The horrors of that night stopped not with the cruel falls,
Of the Heroes of this story, in those golden, bloody halls.
Children died, and innocents at heart as well,
At the hands of this man, once the Hero fell.
To the masters, teachers, tutors, and friends
Of this young man does the blame fall in the ends?
Does responsibility settle only on the one,
When others took part in what has since then gone?
Or is it all, who must bare the blame and hate,
From all those in the streets or is their such thing as fate?
For it is my belief that one man’s life, no more than a spec,
Or compares in size to a man as an insect.
For ne’er a story have I yet seen,
As this with such a dark, unwholesome glean.
A lesson, perhaps, we all might learn,
From this tale of sorry, which does now adjourn.
Ne’er close your mind, nor your heart as well,
Despite the trials faced as darkly the knell.
* Taken from Shakespeare's play MacBeth
