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#1
Posted 14 March 2009 - 05:06 PM
Dredging up once-used remains
For his creation of insane proportions,
Stitching up his deformation electrified
Then left to play—
The doctor’s left with naught to say.
And _________ pens an angry rhyme
Preying on whomever's near,
Seeking out those vital tendons,
Hoping God will somehow mend him,
His curse is hurled upon a star—
Poor Lawrence Talbot goes too far.
Old ________ now, a horror story
dragging feet and spreading fear,
A dusty bag of ragged bones
Reciting verse of gripes and groans.
A royal pain untombed is he—
Moaning through eternity.
But __________ is another matter,
A troubadour until the end.
This musing monster plumbs the night,
Adores his blood and shuns the light.
Leveled for the sake of love,
Why—
Poesy fits him like a glove!
Though this lover may not know it
He makes a bloody decent Poet.
#2
Posted 14 March 2009 - 05:38 PM
________ is an empty poet
Dredging up once-used remains
For his creation of insane proportions,
Stitching up his deformation electrified
Then left to play—
The doctor’s left with naught to say.
And _________ pens an angry rhyme
Preying on whomever's near,
Seeking out those vital tendons,
Hoping God will somehow mend him,
His curse is hurled upon a star—
Poor Lawrence Talbot goes too far.
Old ________ now, a horror story
dragging feet and spreading fear,
A dusty bag of ragged bones
Reciting verse of gripes and groans.
A royal pain untombed is he—
Moaning through eternity.
But __________ is another matter,
A troubadour until the end.
This musing monster plumbs the night,
Adores his blood and shuns the light.
Leveled for the sake of love,
Why—
Poesy fits him like a glove!
Though this lover may not know it
He makes a bloody decent Poet.
-xx-
#3
Posted 14 March 2009 - 05:59 PM
#4
Posted 14 March 2009 - 06:49 PM
#5
Posted 14 March 2009 - 06:59 PM
#6
Posted 14 March 2009 - 07:51 PM
________ is an empty poet
Dredging up once-used remains
For his creation of insane proportions,
Stitching up his deformation electrified
Then left to play—
The doctor’s left with naught to say.
And _________ pens an angry rhyme
Preying on whomever's near,
Seeking out those vital tendons,
Hoping God will somehow mend him,
His curse is hurled upon a star—
Poor Lawrence Talbot goes too far.
Old ________ now, a horror story
dragging feet and spreading fear,
A dusty bag of ragged bones
Reciting verse of gripes and groans.
A royal pain untombed is he—
Moaning through eternity.
But __________ is another matter,
A troubadour until the end.
This musing monster plumbs the night,
Adores his blood and shuns the light.
Leveled for the sake of love,
Why—
Poesy fits him like a glove!
Though this lover may not know it
He makes a bloody decent Poet.
3 has me stumped.
Edited by Raoul, 14 March 2009 - 07:57 PM.
#7
Posted 16 March 2009 - 01:09 AM
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