The h2g2 Poem
Created | Updated Nov 3, 2007
Beneath the Surface
Chip... chip
Until the chisel does slip
You've lost your grip
Could not cut stone
Hoping to reach bone
An axe, you hone
A chance you will take
For a point you must make
I'll not quake
Remember when you swing
A blade is a fickle thing
It will do more than sting
When you open your fist
And see through the mist
That you have cut your own wrist
I see your sneer
As your mask turns sheer
Exposed beneath the veneer
It's such a fright
To realise you are such a blight
Begone from my sight
The once-lovely face
Gone without a trace
Darkness left in its place
The light has left
A soul bereft
As if it had been a theft
Was it fun to mope?
Did you broaden your scope,
Or enjoy the slippery slope?
