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Three Blind Mice Blog
Blog for the WDC birthday Bash.
Amist the endless constellations, we found homes far away,
But there's something left behind and it still whispers to our hearts.
A sense of non-belonging, nostalgia shadowing our days,
The murmur of a memory that defines us all apart.
We've sailed the dark horizons, stretched far out to infinity;
The journey reaches on, discarding decades of history-
But one unremembered birthday lives in us eternally.
We exist in the new age, but we can't find the words to say,
What it is we know, what's buried deep, refusing to depart...
Thus in a silent universe, we share that affinity.
Though our children are all scattered, in the seas of countless suns,
Their achievements never last, and so with time they fade again.
In the future what will remain to recall the things we've done?
Who will reminisce the birthday of the place from whence we came?
We are doomed to travel the worlds and unlock new dimensions,
We are doomed to struggle for things beyond our comprehension,
And wherever we go, we are met hard with apphrension.
Our knowledge and science called us to the stars, thinking it fun.
Is this punishment for what our curiousity has gained?
A vague feeling of loss for a nameless past never mentioned.
Poetic form: Cinq Trois Decala.
The structure of this form:
Each line has 15 syllables.
The rhyming scheme is: ABABCCCABC.
It's a pretty evil form.