Attacked

Cry HAVOC! and let slip
the seeds of our oppression
the ageless folly of our thoughts
that seem to eternally date us
as 15, 17, 19, but never never
forever 21.
is it wrong to think of me
as immature
as worldly pure,
but yet consider me
someone worth emulating
if only
if only
in my moments of

be brevity the soul of wit,
then i would keep this short and sour
but my soul cries out
to be unfettered
unmolested by the ideas of
the 15, 17, 19's of this world
who'll ne'er be 21
is it right to think of me
as impure
as too mature
as someone worth defeating
if only
if only
in my moments of

facetious poetry and prose?












*note: this is a poem from several years ago...:-)*