A Poem

Have you ever taken a class that was supposed to inspire you and somehow you found yourself bored to tears? Have you ever hoped to be enthralled by something that's supposed to be entertaining and wonderful, but had the rug of hope pulled from under your proverbial feet?

I experienced this in my archeology class today. I'm only auditing it, so I don't have to do the reading, but I was interested. Like, I really wanted to learn about archeology. What I realize now is that I wanted to hear stories. I wanted to have somebody tell me all about the world of the ancients, to learn from the past so I can look to the future.

But the prof killed it. Seriously killed it, like, he didn't tell any stories without spelling out the names of the people in them, and despite his attempts to tell stories, he rambled on so many tangents that the class lost its appeal.

So I decided to be productive. I drew two pen-drawings (a sword and a picture of some ruins), and wrote this poem. Enjoy.

Hear, all, and remember the Kings of old
Lament, o humanity, and remember
Those kingdoms have passed on
The nobility of the ancients is but a whisper from the ages
Heroic deeds of men are but a memory

Bur rejoice, all the earth
For greater deeds are yet to come
Heros will rise again
Honor is not lost, wisdom will endure
The warrior king will come
And peace shall reign forever