disclaimer: I don't own the Phantom of the Opera, Macbeth/Hamlet, or Goethe's (pronounced GER-tay: it's a German thingy) Faust. Any other Shakespearian allusions I make aren't mine, they're Will's.
A/N: I offer a contest in the poem, so it's worth your while to read. Without further ado... silly songs with a terrible classical poet.
Shout out to Ovid, Homer, and Virgil. Yeah, so I don't fall into any recognizable meter. NEITHER DID YOU, YOU METER CHEATERS!!! Abbreviating words so they fit into meter... that qualifies as cheating, and hard work for us poor, defenseless Latin 5 students. And I wrote this poem before I knew anything about dactyls or spondees or metrical pattern, and I don't live in Rome, so I am excused. Yeah, ok, so I have Shakespeare, but iambic pentameter EVERYBODY does. I call this Phantometer, because this meter is a disaster beyond your imagination! Gwahahaha! Ok, yeah, enough babbling...
Like the ancient poets, Roman, Greek
A pleasant prelude here I speak
Of arms and men, I could care less,
but the good of men, I must confess
I could care more, I should suppose
Yet, only God doth fully know
All that is right and which is wrong,
And so, instead, I sing this song:
I sing of men, whose pure nobility
had given them the great ability
To do what's good, and stop what's not,
but alas, that truth was soon forgot
Of Macbeth, you know his fate:
Vaulting ambition was his fatal trait
He slew the men who knew his sin,
and by magic, made his power grow thin
and in the end, mighty Macduff
Slew the slayer; you know this stuff!
For though the witches' prophecy was true,
it was quite misleading, and led to rue.
As for the Phantom, you know it best:
In no man could he find rest,
so in despair his heart grew cold
Until Christine, he never told
A soul how he so lonely was,
Denied of love, great sin he does
And in the end, he loses all,
yet, truly piteous was his fall.
Without his music or a friend,
this is how he meets his tragic end.
Of Dr. Faust, that scholar sure:
Mephistopheles was wisdom's cure
They made a contract, signed in blood,
and in exchange meets love's blossoming bud,
yet none could satisfy; none could fill,
For eternal longing, there was no cure-all pill
Or redress which the demon could give,
and when competing against God's ability to forgive,
he was sure to lose, that errant snake
For great sinners great saints make.
and as Faust lay at his last breath,
the Angels saved him from eternal death
And Satan lost his taxing bet
And by Hell-fires he is, again, met.
Now, of this Opera, strange but true:
things had happened, and as time flew,
stranger things performed on and off the stage,
Yet, things you won't hear of on this page.
Those things are for the rest of this
So surely, you do not wish to miss
The conflict and the mystery
that were obscured in history,
But now, as writer, things come clear
And images, like ghosts inside my mind now reappear...
It started around this time of year
Soon after the Populaire closed its version of King Lear
When winter fell, and night was nigh
but not yet bleak, as words imply
Yet growing bleaker still:
for some heart was filled with lust to kill.
Yet, I cannot reveal more here and now:
So I will conclude, as time allows.
Now, a contest I do pose for you,
So I suggest you read this through:
Don't forget to read and review
lest the curse of Macbeth fall on you!
Good things happen to those who read:
And my kindness shall repay the deed.
The one who completes this Shakespeare quote
A character here I shall devote
There shall be more, my friends, don't fret
But one of you knows this, I should bet
So please, speak up, and don't be dumb
Complete this line, and here it comes:
"By the pricking of my thumbs..."
Now say who said itauthor and play
and this could be your lucky day.
I have finished my prelude,
now that I've set the time and mood.
Please, forgive me for silly rhymes,
And falling off meter many times
I try to do my very best
(As you'll see for the rest),
And perhaps I'll grow better with time.
(Relief! The couplets are over, and so is the rhyme!)
the witches' prophecyThe witches gave Macbeth three prophecies, one being no one born of a woman could harm Macbeth. Macbeth, finding courage in this prophecy, finds no fear of Macduff (as another prophecy said); he did not know that there was a loophole in the women-born prophecy: Macduff was born through Caesarian section, and therefore, was not technically born of a woman.
love's blossoming budGretchen, Faust's lover. He takes away her innocence, yet she repents, and through her repentance and her prayers, in Goethe's version, Faust is saved from Mephistopheles
ok, for the contest, you have to give me your name. If you don't want to give me your name, then give me a fake name and I'll use that.