Terrible Poetry

This is something I really want to make pages and pages of, but I haven't thought of any other stanzas yet.


The Salt

Listen to these woeful tales of my sorrows and travails
Through the lands of ice and nails searching for release from fault.
But my search was just a token (though I left that thought unspoken),
For my luck had long been broken, with predictable result.
Though I sought to fix my luck, my awful luck caused the result –
And it all began with salt.

Although now that I am older I throw salt over my shoulder,
In my past years I was bolder. When my father said, “Thou shalt!”
I cried, “Shan’t! I do not will it! I have barely even spilt it!
I shall just go and refill it – shall not silliness exalt!
No, I shall not superstition or silliness exalt!”
So I did not throw the salt.