Some original poetry...

What with starting classes this week, buying some new SUPER FUN toys, and dealing with the evil bitch flu from hell, I haven't had time to write anything funny, insightful, or enlightening. Hopefully you will all forgive me, especially with this offering.

I wrote this for my Western Lit class last semester and (of course) got a resounding A+++ on it. A little background: I had to do a research paper on Candide by Voltaire. I, being the notorious procrastinator that I am, left most of it until the last minute (being November 4th, as it was due November 5th.) (I also got a resounding A+++ on that paper as well. Mad writing skills, yall.)

Enjoy!

The Server

Once upon a weeknight weary, while I surfed the web, oh nearly
did I find what I was searching for.
While the mouse clicked, quickly I picked
something that might maybe fit, fit what I was searching for.
One more reference is what I was searching for,
this I needed and nothing more.

Oh how dreary that November; blocked it out, but I remember
the paper I was researching for.
How I wished I’d started sooner and not gone to see that crooner,
but I was up with the lunar, lunar part of November four.
It seemed I’d been up for forever on that long dark day of four,
trying to find what I was searching for.

Suddenly a link looked right, and though the monitor was bright,
I double-clicked to load the page I’d been searching all night for.
Eagerly I sat there waiting, excitedly anticipating,
but at the same time I was hating, hating what I was looking for.
When the page stopped: not what I’d been searching for,
quoth the server, 404.

“What?” said I, refreshing, “network timeout, I am guessing.
It must be here, the site I’m searching for.”
Faster then my heart was beating, faster still the mouse was speeding,
almost crying I was pleading, pleading with the gods of yore.
Let it be there, let me find this page I’m searching for:
said the server, 404.

“There’s no way this link is broken,” in disbelief this phrase was spoken,
“This error message is mistaken; keep from me that 404.”
Quietly the laptop hummed, loudly then my heartbeat drummed.
Steadily I grew more bummed, bummed more than I was before.
“Please!” I cried, “I need some more of Voltaire’s lore!”
Still the server: 404.

“You wretched thing!” I swore, “with this bad news that you bring,
now show the page I’m searching for!”
Then my eyes, they started stinging, as the pop-up kept on pinging.
Without mercy it was ringing, ringing for this page no more.
One more time, I tried the page, hopeless to my very core –
mocked the server: 404.

This so ends my tale of woe, lovingly ripped off from Edgar Poe,
I never found the page my search was for.
And now my sadness has turned to madness,
wrought upon me by mere gladness, gladness from that 404.
Now I hide inside my room, locked behind a heavy door,
here I stay, forever more.

(If you didn't figure it out, it's a parody of Edgar Allen Poe's "The Raven". )

**I'd like to thank Edgar Allen Poe for his unauthorized, unwitting, and I'm sure, unwanted use and unholy butchering of his masterpiece. Thanks Ed!