By jlor jlorenz@saber.net
Date: 27 July 1999

I Shall Not Bring Strife to the Company of Romantic Gentlefolk

O sweet insignificant other be still; 
Do not count on your overworked, ill-paid muse 
To suffuse your prating with semantic overkill
Or have him come for you as bailiff 
To bid that friend you condemned obey  your will.
Blame and scorn are your trusty sword and scabbard
Tried and sure,
With which you intend to strike at another heart
Til time slams your door no more; 
Have you not said your love is cold? 
Go then. Stop fashioning insults 
With ideas and words
Bellowing like a fool,impotent with rage, 
Your chief talent amounting to little more
Than breaking wind, in verse.
Come, stop beating on your friend 
In your wordsmith's cave,    
Hammering with furious blows, 
Breathing fire and hell
On one who once was your alter-ego; 
Nor use your metric anvil 
To hone an even finer edge
Onto your already far too sharpened tongue. 
And why do you cast off  
Your golden friendship
As if it now were worthless dross?  
And stamp your poetic feet
In a temper tantrum
As if you were cleaning off 
A load of horse's dung?
You run away, 
Throwing down your badly charred olive branch
After you've stirred the fire with it one more time
After which, 
Adding insult to injury
You beat a hasty retreat
Out the door
Without even saying goodbye.

O sweet insignificant other,
Why don't you just slow down and chill? 



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