Politics to Hatred.

[DoS Archive]

From: sirduel@aol.com (Sir Duel)
Date: 06 Nov 1998 18:53:27 EST

::the young blind herbalist shuffles up to the boards, tacking up a fancily scribed parchment, obviousely of a professional origin:: It Reads:

Hallo Sirs and Gents, I have currently "read" a post that somewhat disturbs me from one such as "The Buffster." It stated: "Hey, y'all. Someone let me know when the DoS becomes fun again." Well, my quill roamed and I wrote a small poem on hate. Nothing much. I believe the reason it might not be fun for everyone anymore is that they are either too immersed in politics and not dueling or, not all, a select few, of the political debates turn into
sensless personal mudslinging. Nothing new. Anyone with eyes can see such. I hope the people who actually do such things as metabolize healthy discussions into hatred should read this poem and see if it hits a nerve. I don't know, anythings worth a try, eh? Well, here goes, lets see if I haven't lost the pen yet:
::First letter in large, bold, fancy script::

"The Garment ill suited"

Hate has a stylish cut,
It is garment which suits a many of man,
Snug, attractive, a light aire,
To comfort in a harsh season

Holds firm against the elements, or so they say__
Shaping also, to the will.
But on the rack, there it hangs, for I cannot wear it.

It is a fabric that suits my taste bland,
However much the peers shall don.
All at once, choking and small
Beating the life out of my fragile soul
It riddles, it trips, I am caged.

And in my head, fevers grow,
Poisoning where, the cloth hast touched.
Till I must tear it off, as though 'twas the Poisoned Cloth
Of the centaur Nessus, Strong enough,
to burn through the strong-hearted Hercules,

And proud are the people's gait,
As they walk, hands cuffed warm, Unaware,
Of the trail of fear, hate, blood and spoils they leave,
In Hate. Spring for though shall not come.
It Need not be prayed.
But thin-clothed do I face the gails
Or crouch 'neath the fireplace

For Hate Suits me ill.

((Author's Note: (c)1998 Fattorusso All Rights Reserved, Website will be up to portray more poems.))
::An elegant scripture lies beneath the text::


Sir Coron de Copacheta

Poet of the Writer's Guild

Wandering Healer Shaman

[DoS Archive]

From: mrnothk0r@aol.com (Mrnoth K0r)
Date: 06 Nov 1998 20:35:16 EST

::sniffles in a joking way::

That was beutiful man.

::adds a small note::

I've never been one for poetry, so forgive me if I should be moved.

::walks off laughing, but with Coron, not at him::

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"Every where I be
They try to judge me
They try to shake me
They try to buzz me
But they can't break me"