I Writed A Poem

Okay, first of all, I didn't want to. But my creative writing teacher made me. Something about a grade. What?! You can't force me to write a poem! I'm pretty sure this is against the Geneva Conventions!!

It's not? Did you check? You did. Just now? Shit.

Fine, I'll write a stupid poem. Just slap some words together, pretend to be artsy, blah blah. It's not like I have to even rhyme nowadays, right?

What do you mean, it has to be a form poem?

Does a haiku count?

No.

Can it be about dinosaurs?

No.

Well... GAH I can't write a poem!!!!!!!!

I was wrong. I can write a poem, and I even wrote it from the POV of one of my Paladins in 13th House. Engeler, the Twelfth Paladin. Here's what I turned in to my teacher:


The character is Engeler, a member of the cursed 13th House. He wrote poems and songs lamenting the unfortunate fate of the Paladins, members of the 13th House who are captured by the Faith of the Hand and tortured into willing slavery. This poem was written as he sat besieged in his home, soldiers of the Hand outside and beating down his doors to take him away to be turned into a Paladin.

The Paladin’s Appeal

The Paladin’s appeal is brief,
So hearken, listen to the thief
Of souls, his plea now must begin—
The dire and sinful Paladin.

For sins undone in waking life
The men come, palming rev’rent knife,
To purify by ghoulish grin
The dire and sinful Paladin.

They come for him from cities far
With love that hates, and fingers scar.
The sacred text has words which thin
The dire and sinful Paladin.

Away, the south, the endless gorge,
Holds men who seek to maim and scourge
The spirit that he keeps within
The wretched angel Paladin. 


I got it back, graded, on Monday. 74 out of 75. He didn't get the line "With love that hates, and fingers scar." I think it's just because he doesn't understand the weirdness ongoing in my brain. That's okay. I'll take a 74/75 for a poem I wrote in, literally, ten minutes. I changed a couple of things at the suggestion of some more poetry-minded friends, but not much. And I got a poem for my novel. Weeehooo! Not a wasted word.