desdemona
desdemona.docx — Apotheoza
DESDEMONA
B:Somewhere, once, where winter never comes,a garden grew, so colorful and lush,that there wasn't a poet, a king or a Noble knight,so worthy to behold so gorgeous of a sight.For men of this world are strangers to charm,They try to capture beauty, but only do it harm,The kings too vain, the knights so lewd,And poets verses just too crude,To paint the pictures prettier that fiction,Of a garden too wild to own a description,So to let man be witness'd be a sacrilegious deed,Our garden raised a wall o' bushes, thorns and weed...A:and what then?B:A single spark and a bit of bad luck,not long after, disaster struck.you already know the rest.A:some poet you are! go to hell!Besides why start a story you wouldn't tell?B:The scenes that followed, grotesque and perverse,Too cruel and barbaric to honor with verse,Envisioned by an author of questionable taste,Whos penship too often lays beauty to waste.Fate; her tragic plays at times steal the stage,And force tasteless stories vile and accursed,Down the throats of an audience thirsting for rage,Now sorrow they drink while dying of thirst.Some people think that vengeance burns hot,Sometimes it soothes them to blame a name,Why they need a villain they know not,When at the end of the day, the dead lie the same.But even these vengful types come to know,That in truest sadness hate comes apart,To honor a victim deserving of more,than the simple urges of a primitive heart.A:oh you dolt you lazy bard,your rhymes aren't worth a single pence,making songs is not that hard,whent they needn't make a tinge of sense,Who's the audience of a garden never seen?B:'Tis true that the garden hid away,from grubby human eyes,but atop still shone the light of day,The clouds and birds and skies.Maybe they don't talk as much,or think like me and you,but nature feels much more than us,and it mourns much deeper too.Back then it was clear from the solemn woe,of the Barren trees and cinder snow,The pallor smoke of the forests mane,That for the very first time, winter came.A:The trees must've been heartbrokenB:the fairest flower in all the mountains,The brightest day that ever was,And all the stars, the countless thousands,Never felt such bitter loss,For all pretty things do love each other,all have shared a single womb,Beauty is their only mother,Dotting on an ashen tomb.A tomb that be her blackened daughter,whos twilight set the skies ablaze,A single death is worth a slaughter,When the victim has a pretty face
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