Poems from BastardNathan
The King! The King! The King is dead!
The Sword of Damocles went through his head.
While sitting on his throne,
there came an old crone....
I am writing bad poetry,
That, is what I do.
If I wrote an exquisite verse,
Well, I wouldn't waste it on you,
We are the chorus,
For I speak with one accord,
But it is our contention,
That my turbulent shifts,
Concerning the plurality of our being,...
Once, I sat on the brink,
feeling dramatic as all hell,
I coulda' swore I heard Death breathe,
And what I think I heard, it gave me a chill...
Adrift in my daydreams, I prefer a tranquil scene,
Shatter this spell, shock me something most obscene,
If ever I come to, cover my mouth...