[ XXIV ]<br />

The horror grows stronger for us, but no,
This planet here - rounds the hoary sky.
Gives us caprices of a colorful moon!
An elliptical verse of void and void’s sty.

But the horror grows sweet, look within,
This sky here, which drifts the world around,
Cushions our dreams and dampens our ears
Over the clouds and over our sounds.

But what is just and fair of us?
To far off places, cryptic and lost,
That like two hatch-lings that fell from a tree,
Are still felt but forgotten like two comets-crossed.

For a bit, what horror left leaves, and yet,
This pond here, twists ‘round us all,
Unable to live and unable to reckon.
Not fit to be, is just a starry-verse small.

But what is just and fair of it?
And what is past this, more of the like?
Unwilling to live and unwilling to reckon,
In a silent morbidity of a black rolling-dyke?

Alas, our horror swells to the brim, but no,
All worlds around us - among the hoary sky,
Give us whimsies of a kaleidoscope sun!
An elliptical verse of void and void’s sty.


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Really bad poem, Triple. Worst use of the dash I have seen in some time.

This planet here - rounds the hoary sky.

No dash belongs in that line.

Are still felt but forgotten like two comets-crossed.

That is not a compound word.

Not fit to be, is just a starry-verse small.

Nor is that one.

In a silent morbidity of a black rolling-dyke?

Nuh-uh, not that one either.

Hugh, you should have been tipped by the first line:

The horror grows stronger for us


Les

"the howwah the howwah"
Elmer "Fudd" Kurtz