I don't own Monk. No Flames, please. I hate them. They make me weep uncontrollably. If you hate it, I really don't care. Sure, I'll cry, but my tears mean nothing... if you hate it, just don't review it. Because, I'll know that if no one reviews it, it sucks. LOGIC PEOPLES! So, don't Flame. (even if you really, really, REALLY hate it.)



My First Monk Poem


It was cold within that room,

With all it's melodramatic gloom.

The walls were dark and painted white,

The rooms were lit with a crackling light.

The Captain stood, his posture straight,

He'd told me that I had to wait.

I sit here on this metal chair,

My hands running back on my curly hair,

My thoughts running wild, a horrible fate,

As I think of ideas that I really hate.

The thought of her gone- the thought of alone,

The thoughts then broken by the ringing phone.

I straightened and stood, with a nod at my boss,

And I took the phone, and was told of my loss.

My legs turn to jell-o,

As I whisper, 'Oh, God, no,'

And felt a hand on my shoulder I knew.

He said that it hurt him, too.

He whispered that he was sorry for me,

Then he left me to a scene I wanted no one to see.

I stood with my hand, running down the gray wall,

Feeling emptiness crowd me, as I hung up the call.

The dial tone ended, abruptly and quick,

As the clock watched down at me, with a tock, and a tick,

The seconds blew by me, the minutes came, too,

And I was left in that room, doing all I could do.

The tears were refreshing, so glad I could cry,

My Wife, my Life, my Trudy, had died.


Once again... no flames. Happy-go-lucky reviews are fine, though.