Given my adamant love for Edgar Allen Poe, it was only a matter of time before my writing took a turn for the dark side. Also, the more I learn about writing, the more I learn that I must learn more about writing (make sense?). I look back and find my poetry so elementary and underdeveloped. Plus it doesn't help that every writing teacher teaches you something that contradicts someone else.
"No end rhymes"
"Rhyming creates flow and affects your readers body"
"Don't write like Poe, Frost, or Shakespeare"
"If only we could mimic those before our time, alas!"
"Do not use expected word patterns"
... so basically I've decided I'm going to just attempt to make the teacher happy while letting my writing grow however it wishes, like the uncontrollable child of a worn-out parent ("and absolutely no cheesy metaphors!")
Abandon your pursuit of the treasure chest of flesh
Beating the time to songs of drunken conquests
Crooning like a siren, "Come closer sweet sailor!
Dash your ship upon the rocks and spend
Eternities with me in a watery grave."
Forgetting you were once sailing for worlds end
Grateful to the ghosts of lovers long dead
Heed their warning and sail on instead
Ignore the beating songs within the treasure chest of flesh
Jutting rocks will taunt you no more
Kill yourself, instead, of your own accord
Lulled to sleep by the sweet song of
Mermaids, who know of the treasure you seek
Nauseating sea sickness, the flutter of your stomach
Over the side of your boat, vomit into the sea and
Pass by unharmed, sailing evermore
Quivering from the brief touch of fortune
Rekindled flame quickly put out again
Saved by your crew, for if you are seen beware
There be dragons! Or live and die by fire
Under the spell of the beating treasure chest
Vile as the song of sirens and mermaids
Who are never really what they say
X marks the spot, but no not that way
Yearning for that which can never be found
Zealous, endless searching for the treasure in your chest
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