Will I Be Missed? (an ode to Begor's death and those who brought him back)
Posted: Fri Sep 25, 2020 12:23 am
A goblin, hid within the trees,
Was musing on his troubled fate
For he could not abate
The stream of heroes in their armored plate
Who, when questing, would eradicate
Him and his motley pillagers
For the slightest of offenses:
the tearing down of fences
And slaughtering of all the sheep belonging to the villagers.
I can’t resist the coming dread
Will I be missed, becoming dead?
Depends upon the narrative believed.
If some do-gooder could, instead, be deceived
Into thinking I am misperceived.
In truth I struggle to subsist
My aim is but to coexist.
And, gaining that delusion, when I’m gone my conclusion is . . .
I’ll be missed.
A coffin’s lid was pushed aside,
Undead from within exposing,
Decaying and decomposing,
It, struggling, arose and began to posing
How to confront the thieves now imposing
On unsullied tombs and crypts
For the chance of golden rings,
Silver coins, bejeweled things,
A spell-infused heirloom, or some ancient manuscripts.
It thought, while staggering ahead,
Will I be missed, already dead?
Depends upon the point of view expressed.
The intrusion of these uninvited guests
Have revived a score of other souls, distressed,
Whose symphonious narration:
“comes now their total decimation,”
Brought a putrid, toothless smile, demonstrating all the while that . . .
I’ll be missed.
A minstrel traveling on the road,
And come upon a gross atrocity
Ignoring his comrade’s paucity
And, succumbing to curiosity,
Charged after the monstrosities,
Intending to exact a retaliation.
There could be no sly retreat
Else the hills would be replete
With endless, blood-thirsty hordes bringing total decimation.
The final thought, within his head -
Will I be missed when I lay dead?
In the fugue plane his final role
Could be to convene and condole
The wandering and meandering souls.
But his time in death was abbreviated
As he felt his body reincarnated.
A new beginning not the end, he sighed amongst his gathered friends . . .
I was missed.
Was musing on his troubled fate
For he could not abate
The stream of heroes in their armored plate
Who, when questing, would eradicate
Him and his motley pillagers
For the slightest of offenses:
the tearing down of fences
And slaughtering of all the sheep belonging to the villagers.
I can’t resist the coming dread
Will I be missed, becoming dead?
Depends upon the narrative believed.
If some do-gooder could, instead, be deceived
Into thinking I am misperceived.
In truth I struggle to subsist
My aim is but to coexist.
And, gaining that delusion, when I’m gone my conclusion is . . .
I’ll be missed.
A coffin’s lid was pushed aside,
Undead from within exposing,
Decaying and decomposing,
It, struggling, arose and began to posing
How to confront the thieves now imposing
On unsullied tombs and crypts
For the chance of golden rings,
Silver coins, bejeweled things,
A spell-infused heirloom, or some ancient manuscripts.
It thought, while staggering ahead,
Will I be missed, already dead?
Depends upon the point of view expressed.
The intrusion of these uninvited guests
Have revived a score of other souls, distressed,
Whose symphonious narration:
“comes now their total decimation,”
Brought a putrid, toothless smile, demonstrating all the while that . . .
I’ll be missed.
A minstrel traveling on the road,
And come upon a gross atrocity
Ignoring his comrade’s paucity
And, succumbing to curiosity,
Charged after the monstrosities,
Intending to exact a retaliation.
There could be no sly retreat
Else the hills would be replete
With endless, blood-thirsty hordes bringing total decimation.
The final thought, within his head -
Will I be missed when I lay dead?
In the fugue plane his final role
Could be to convene and condole
The wandering and meandering souls.
But his time in death was abbreviated
As he felt his body reincarnated.
A new beginning not the end, he sighed amongst his gathered friends . . .
I was missed.
Well done.