Only The Good Die Young Those who shovel crap downhill, Never need any silly excuses, And keep interminably long lists, Of who, should be at the very top, And, who should stay on the bottom! Remembering who to give crap to next, Is how you can climb all the way to the top! Whilst for those who prefer to shovel crap uphill, Staying, two punch lines ahead of all the competition, They will seldom, if ever, manage to see anything coming, Handily encouraging the Three Stooges, to distract each other. You must be smarter than a chicken, to comprehend shoveling crap, To see larger patterns hidden within the madness of crap rolling downhill. To comprehend, why they all persist in running in endless circles screaming, To be able to hear, what they are saying, beneath all their indignant complaints, Predicting, which way the wind blows, and which way crap will roll downhill next. Which is why, only the good die young whenever chickens go on memory alone. Sacrificing the future of their own children, frequently in the name of ideology, Even their own children, abandoning everything they stand for en mass, As they burn the candle at both ends, denying them any real future. For reality without dreams, remains every chicken's nightmare, Whilst, dreams bereft all reality, are worse liberal fantasies! Stay awake long enough, whimpering fools hallucinate, If I cancel tomorrow the undead will thank me today! Blessed liquid courage, at the bottom of a bottle, Magic incantations, to ward off the darkness. Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools, The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player... That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more... It is a tale, Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing. Flying in the face of your prophets, I mock, all of your morality plays! The moon, is red and bleeding! The sun, is burnt and black! The book of life, yet silent! There is no turning back! For any self-respecting chicken, pride goeth before the fall! Shamefully fallen from grace, they roll crap harder downhill, Right over their own children and anybody else in their way! Living their own worst nightmare, whilst praying for a miracle, Anything that might save them from their own mindless masses, Forgetting, that every Ugly Duckling's fate, is to become the swan, Only the good die young, still waiting for a tomorrow that never comes! (Billy Joel, Shakespeare)
This is a more obvious example of a root logic poem. Our Rainbow Warrior poetry must create a world that is consistent and paints a picture of "Shit Happens" and crap always rolls downhill. Staying two punch lines ahead of the competition is actually a reference to modern Game theory and evolution. The ability to expand so much on the theme using classic Shakespeare is a huge plus, because the Bible and Shakespeare are the two main sources of salt-of-the-earth metaphors in the English language. Also, expressing sorrow and negative emotions is generally more difficult in our poetry, which can express beauty and humor in distinctive contexts, using the exact same words and punctuation. Being a chicken is both humorous and sad, if not glamorous, and is another way of saying we are all Ugly Ducklings. Billy Joel is extremely gifted with his use of metaphors and I never cease to be amazed. Thanks to Orison for prompting me to look again. Vase, trophy, and grail shaped poems, as well as one rather larger old fashion throne toilet and anything that will hold salt-water, piss, and vinegar are common and indicate the poem is a good one.
