(Ode to Triteness – A Story)
‘Twas a dark and stormy night,
When I felt pain of broken heart…
“Cut, stop! Quit, I say! That’s too trite!”
“Oh, father! Please! Don’t even start!”
The one screaming ‘trite,’ that’s daddy dear,
The one moaning – that’s me.
Accusing finger flying, I hear –
“Originality’s what we need!”
A young artist, slaving away,
The only words to touch my ears –
“Say it a different way!”
But it’s all been said over the years.
I can’t say – Lips like roses red,
Or – Eyes like the brilliant sky blue,
Because it’s already been said,
And it’s rally touch to make it new.
People praise Shakespeare and Poe,
And say they were talented men,
But what they don’t seem to know
Is that writers today just can’t win!
Sure, it was just fine for them to say –
“I’ll love you til the end of time”
But if I wrote that stuff today,
I’d cross it out and write a new line.
There is one handy weapon though,
A thesaurus is its name,
And it doesn’t matter what you know,
Your writing will never be the same!
On a dim, tempestuous eve,
I knew anguish of a splintered soul –
Aha! I’e done it as you can see!
Now I can say anything – new or old!
Listen up, how does this sound –
Fairer than flowers, sanguine lips,
Or – Cerulean eyes heaven bound.
Now, I’ll just spew off revised quips!
Transfiguration is what we need
(Because really it’s the only way)
Because it just won’t happen today.
(By the way…)
(Please don’t mention this to my dad.
He’s just not the type to understand,
And I know for a fact he’d be mad,
If he knew about my master plan!)