Black Ribbons

I browsed to the Writer's Archive the other day
To see if any new poets had come to stay,
Expecting to see the light blue of Kimiko
I found instead the dreaded eye of yellow.
These ribbons of black and indigo
Thread above the titles and down below
Through the archives she already owned,
For no other more than she is intoned
By these forum poets - willing zombies
Spellbound through the pounding of their keys.
So while the darkly cute becomes darker
Making her depth of tributes starker,
I find I cannot browse with all these ribbons on my screen,
These black, pervasive ribbons of the forum's gothic queen.
So I browse away that I may
Find some peace of mind.

Some time later, I fell into a book of Poe's
To find the discord that only he can sow.
Yet something else was creeping,
And took over what I was reading.
It was long and black and found no lack
Of methods to creep in
For Poe surely knows how to let the darkness in,
And I cannot read with these ribbons in my eyes -
They creep and seep and then arise
'Til they are all that one can see,
Until one's sight is set on her eternally.
So I replace the book and I look
To find some peace of mind.

Then I went to start my daily work,
For surely the ribbons cannot lurk
Inside tomes of calculus and history
That are forced upon me by the university.
However, I soon discovered while doing my sums
That the thoughts of goths were pounding, like a band of drums,
Inside my head - it's what I always dread -
That urge to serve the queen of the living dead!
For I cannot think with all these ribbons in my brain,
Dragging my thoughts from radicals I should tame.
Thus I put the math away that I may
Go find some peace of mind.

There is one place where no other has yet shook me,
And that is when I am writing of my dearest Yuki.
For we cannot help agreeing that every poet being
Surely possesses a certain fanboy, sleeping
And waiting for a chance to write and clamor
And pound the boards with a filkish hammer.
Yet even here, I soon felt a silky appendage
Feeling out my arms, hands, and visage.
Now I can scarcely breathe with these ribbons 'round my neck,
Demanding filks in their honor from Bowie, Byron, or Beck.
I struggle to tell of Piro, Meimi, or Boo again,
But I cannot write with all these ribbons on my pen,
And it's a somehow fitting way to spend Halloween day
Helplessly filling this scene with our jealous forum queen!

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