I am Poetic Nemesis,
Master of Ceremony.
Walking along the precipice
Of self sought Sanctimony.
I bide the waves of swirling winds,
I find no cause appeasing.
Beside the graves of would be friends
There is but pause, no pleasing.
Just another Mundane Monday,
They're all the same anymore!
I close my eyes to find my way
By wings of Darkness I soar...
What is this flippancy unfurled,
Is Fate, yet out of season?
True, I could be King of the World
But I just have no reason.
Lo, Principality's Nightmare,
What's left but Chaotic Fame?
With not a hope there left to share,
Leave to me all tears and blame!
I'll bear proudly each wasted call,
I'll spurn each outstretched hand.
Dare lay your wishes at my wall,
They'll burn by my demand.
Why must you try to ease this curse?
When my home is but my hell!!!
Just leave me to the fangs of verse
That suck life through this shell...
I'll never be this man you see,
No, my love bears no witness.
I'm but the Scourge destined to be
Your Poetic Nemesis.
For all behind was dark and drear,
And all before was night and fear.
How many hours of night or day
In those suspended pangs I lay,
I could not tell; I scarcely knew
If this were human breath I drew.
[This message has been edited by Michael (edited 04-10-2000).]