However, today is the day that I mutilate good poetry.
Background: In high school my 10th grade teacher (15 years old) made us memorize poems. During February as part of Black History Month we had to memorize poems written during the Harlem Renaissance. Most of them were okay and fairly interesting. This one was the hardest for everyone, including myself. The flow and rythem of it were a bit different and harder to understand for me at that age. Yet, it stuck with me and I can still recite the damn thing word for word nearing twenty years later.
As anything that is stuck in your head is wont to do, my mind started to convert it into Eve. However, it is a serious Poem and my conversion was both serious and tongue in cheek at the same time. I felt a bit bad and tried to push it out of my head, but it wouldn't stay there and kept composing. The only obvious thing to do at that point was let it go, see how it came out and post it. It is quite the mess that I created with it.
The poem is "Yet do I Marvel" by Countee Cullen. I find it interesting that I have come to understand many of its meanings so long after I learned it.
My converted version is below.
I doubt not CCP is good, well-meaning, proud,
Do they and the players quibble? Both sides wonder why
The CSM to player link understanding often blind,
Why thoughts that mirror theirs must someday die,
Make plain the reason tackled Thanatos
is baited by the fickle drake, declare
If merely Brutix and Catalyst doom Obelisk
To Udema's dark stare.
Incursioners wonder how their ways are when they go boom,
To catechisms in a forum to strewn
With petty rants and trolls to understand,
What code compels the changes drawn in the sand.
Yet do I marvel at this corporation thing
To make sov space blue, and into a ring!