Last year, I was taking this poetry class at the high school, and multiple times throughout the semester, we were given cards with words on them, and we were supposed to write poetry based off those words. Let me tell you, I got some INTERESTING poetry out of those cards. One the first times we engaged in this activity, I was quite pleased to get these words: Menace, velvet, coffin, psychopath, plethora, sanity, satisfy, authentic, crimson, and drowned. And I was like, "BRILLIANCE." The first line that came to me involved "inoccent menace," and the line, "velvet-lined coffins" was just SCREAMING to be used. And really. Considering the words I had to use, there was only one thing I could write about.
Thus I composed a poem in honor of the character Undertaker from Black Butler, who, in case you didn't already know, is one of my favorites, even if he is a completely insane creeper. :) And I'm not sure if any of you have seen this before, but if you have... Oh well. And do excuse my BLATANT disregard of, uh, copywrite infringement... But, hey. It's a private blog.
Do enjoy, then.
Undertaker
His innocent menace attracts and repels
His velvet-lined coffins are personalized hells
His psychopath smiles, the scars on his face
If you go in his store, you might vanish: no trace
The Undertaker’s lair has a plethora of bones
His insanity’s something that nobody owns
Death satisfies him, that thick, crimson tide
And his bones are authentic, they’re people who died
If they’ve drowned or they hanged, if they were stabbed or they fell
He merrily leads them all into hell
His grip on his sanity is tenuous at best
You’d call him a Reaper from the way that he’s dressed
A chain hung with lockets encircles his waist
Are the lockets reminders of the corpses he’s faced?
His ash-colored hair reaches down past his hips
And a quivering smile curves up his lips
He’s a morbid eccentric, his ears hung with rings
And because he will listen, he knows all sorts of things
His nails are long, and blacker than sin
And all his bones match the shade of his skin
As if collared, his throat is embraced by a scar
The secrets behind it run deep and stretch far
Together a ring and a scar grace his hand
One metal, the other, a more gruesome band
A pale grey sash crosses his chest
A hat tops off the ensemble, as bizarre as the rest
His hair hides his eyes, so he watches unseen
And he’ll twist all your words, despite what you mean
What he wants is a laugh, so tell him a joke
He’s so much like a child, ensconced in death’s choke
His friends are cadavers, only bones hear his voice
But this dark isolation is entirely his choice
Perhaps he is lonely, but you don’t want to ask
For an Undertaker’s job is a perilous task
How is it possible to keep sanity intact
When the dead are the audience who watch how you act?
Murders and suicide, accident or fate
This business of death, you either love or you hate
He reins in his laugh with a tremulous hold
He could still be called young, but he’s infinitely old
He’s a keeper of secrets, and he knows what he owns
He drinks from a beaker, shapes food like bones
His home is a morgue and a graveyard’s his park
The light is unkind, so he lives in the dark
His bed is a coffin, his chair is a grave
His card is a headstone, and you’d have to be brave
To come to this person, who deals with death’s hand
Who lives to fulfill death’s final command
He’ll make you a coffin and laugh at your fears
But he’s oh so much more than what he appears
His scars hide his past, his laugh hides his pain
For what choice did he have but to go so insane?
But even his insanity hides something more
It’s a lucid insanity, with intellect at core
For he knows what he’s doing, that can’t be denied
And he takes proper care of the ones who have died
He lays them to rest with a name and a face
He remembers them all, they all have their place
He rejoices in death for he knows it brings birth
And he understands that all people have worth
He safeguards your secrets, he’ll tell you no lies
And it’s him that you’ll turn to when somebody dies
He lives with the dead for he know they don’t mind
While the rest of the world may not be so kind
So he croons out his secrets to the bones in his arms
And in these lonely moments, he reveals his charms
He brushes his hair back, out of his eyes
And they’re absolutely stunning—a pleasant surprise
His voice fills with memory as he spins out his tale
And each body listens in their velvet-lined jail
Alone in the dark, he’s a hard sight to bear
His rejection by life is so very unfair
For he’s only a person, strange though he may be
So in these quiet moments, it’s hard, what you see
In his own crazy way, he is handsome and kind
If you just break his surface, it’s insane what you’ll find
Then he tips back his head, and his smile grows so wide
Maybe he knows what your mind must confide
He lets out a laugh and you can’t help but smile
For he’s not so disturbing just this once in a while
You know he’s not sane, but does that really matter?
At times everyone is as mad as a hatter
He gathers his bones and he tells them goodnight
Then he lays in his coffin and blows out the light
In the dark of this midnight, you’re smiling, because
No matter what else, he loves what he does
This strange Undertaker, who’s both creepy and kind
You know he’s insane… but you don’t really mind
You both let out laughs in this cover of ink
For neither of you care what others may think
And so you turn away, with a shrug and a smile
Because it’s fine to be crazy, every once in a while
His innocent menace attracts and repels
His velvet-lined coffins are personalized hells
His psychopath smiles, the scars on his face
If you go in his store, you might vanish: no trace
The Undertaker’s lair has a plethora of bones
His insanity’s something that nobody owns
Death satisfies him, that thick, crimson tide
And his bones are authentic, they’re people who died
If they’ve drowned or they hanged, if they were stabbed or they fell
He merrily leads them all into hell
His grip on his sanity is tenuous at best
You’d call him a Reaper from the way that he’s dressed
A chain hung with lockets encircles his waist
Are the lockets reminders of the corpses he’s faced?
His ash-colored hair reaches down past his hips
And a quivering smile curves up his lips
He’s a morbid eccentric, his ears hung with rings
And because he will listen, he knows all sorts of things
His nails are long, and blacker than sin
And all his bones match the shade of his skin
As if collared, his throat is embraced by a scar
The secrets behind it run deep and stretch far
Together a ring and a scar grace his hand
One metal, the other, a more gruesome band
A pale grey sash crosses his chest
A hat tops off the ensemble, as bizarre as the rest
His hair hides his eyes, so he watches unseen
And he’ll twist all your words, despite what you mean
What he wants is a laugh, so tell him a joke
He’s so much like a child, ensconced in death’s choke
His friends are cadavers, only bones hear his voice
But this dark isolation is entirely his choice
Perhaps he is lonely, but you don’t want to ask
For an Undertaker’s job is a perilous task
How is it possible to keep sanity intact
When the dead are the audience who watch how you act?
Murders and suicide, accident or fate
This business of death, you either love or you hate
He reins in his laugh with a tremulous hold
He could still be called young, but he’s infinitely old
He’s a keeper of secrets, and he knows what he owns
He drinks from a beaker, shapes food like bones
His home is a morgue and a graveyard’s his park
The light is unkind, so he lives in the dark
His bed is a coffin, his chair is a grave
His card is a headstone, and you’d have to be brave
To come to this person, who deals with death’s hand
Who lives to fulfill death’s final command
He’ll make you a coffin and laugh at your fears
But he’s oh so much more than what he appears
His scars hide his past, his laugh hides his pain
For what choice did he have but to go so insane?
But even his insanity hides something more
It’s a lucid insanity, with intellect at core
For he knows what he’s doing, that can’t be denied
And he takes proper care of the ones who have died
He lays them to rest with a name and a face
He remembers them all, they all have their place
He rejoices in death for he knows it brings birth
And he understands that all people have worth
He safeguards your secrets, he’ll tell you no lies
And it’s him that you’ll turn to when somebody dies
He lives with the dead for he know they don’t mind
While the rest of the world may not be so kind
So he croons out his secrets to the bones in his arms
And in these lonely moments, he reveals his charms
He brushes his hair back, out of his eyes
And they’re absolutely stunning—a pleasant surprise
His voice fills with memory as he spins out his tale
And each body listens in their velvet-lined jail
Alone in the dark, he’s a hard sight to bear
His rejection by life is so very unfair
For he’s only a person, strange though he may be
So in these quiet moments, it’s hard, what you see
In his own crazy way, he is handsome and kind
If you just break his surface, it’s insane what you’ll find
Then he tips back his head, and his smile grows so wide
Maybe he knows what your mind must confide
He lets out a laugh and you can’t help but smile
For he’s not so disturbing just this once in a while
You know he’s not sane, but does that really matter?
At times everyone is as mad as a hatter
He gathers his bones and he tells them goodnight
Then he lays in his coffin and blows out the light
In the dark of this midnight, you’re smiling, because
No matter what else, he loves what he does
This strange Undertaker, who’s both creepy and kind
You know he’s insane… but you don’t really mind
You both let out laughs in this cover of ink
For neither of you care what others may think
And so you turn away, with a shrug and a smile
Because it’s fine to be crazy, every once in a while
Sadly enough, as very little has been revealed about dear Undertaker (and I'm not caught up with the storyline as it is), I don't have any base for a lot of what is said in this poem... But I'm a fan, either way. But any and all phsyical descriptions were included after intensive picture-studying, so all of that, at least, is relatively spot on.
And there you have it.
2 comments:
You know what? You must be psychic. There are some lines in there that go perfectly with the latest storyline. They MAY have been the lines that dealt with Reapers. But you never know.
One thing - the line that said . . . darn. I can't find it. But it was about him knowing things because he listens. It seemed kind of off rhythm. But that was hilariously awesome!
WAIT! I AM PSYCHIC?!?! BRILLIANT!!! Now I REALLY want to go read the next bit... But as my computer is so abominably slow, and I try not to use Aurora's computer to look at manga, it may take me a while... :( There are actually quite a few lines that I think are out of rhythm. *grimace* But it was a random, uberly quickly written poem, so. Anyhow. Thanks for the comment.
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