It's finally happened, I've descended to writing poetry based on Harry Potter (actually, there was that Snape-inspired alchemy poem last year, but that could stand on its own without knowledge of its source). Behold, the ghetto sonnet about Remus:
I wake too feel the moon's pull in my blood
And once again, I face its light alone.
There is no other here to lend me strength,
No second set of paws to pace my own.
The packmates I belong with are all lost
And I alone remain to face the night,
Bereft of friends or lover, without hope
Of heart or hands to make the hours light.
And so my weary footprints stand alone
and howls rend the air without reply.
The moon brings only solitude and pain
And memories of joy are shown as lies.
And though I know you are the one at fault,
My heart is weak, and cannot keep you out.
Obviously, my new tactic to keep myself from talking too much in Hitler, Churchill, Stalin seminar is working--I keep relatively silent and pen angst in iambic pentameter instead. Speaking of which, I have drawn the conclusion that the reason iambic pentameter is so popular is that it can be counted out on one's fingers.
I wake too feel the moon's pull in my blood
And once again, I face its light alone.
There is no other here to lend me strength,
No second set of paws to pace my own.
The packmates I belong with are all lost
And I alone remain to face the night,
Bereft of friends or lover, without hope
Of heart or hands to make the hours light.
And so my weary footprints stand alone
and howls rend the air without reply.
The moon brings only solitude and pain
And memories of joy are shown as lies.
And though I know you are the one at fault,
My heart is weak, and cannot keep you out.
Obviously, my new tactic to keep myself from talking too much in Hitler, Churchill, Stalin seminar is working--I keep relatively silent and pen angst in iambic pentameter instead. Speaking of which, I have drawn the conclusion that the reason iambic pentameter is so popular is that it can be counted out on one's fingers.