The purple prose of an adolescent trapped in suburban hell in 1989

While digging through the accumulated boxes of childhood crap over the holidays, I came across the one and only poem I ever wrote without being under threat of failing English. (There was a stand off one year. I won. Heh.) In fact, I would not be in the least surprised to discover I never wrote it at all, but that instead it's something that just randomly stuck in my memory. The good news is that there is not one thing I could write this year that could be more embarrassing, and so, in the spirit of self motivation, I give you:Here we go again, sir.And the antelope said to the cat in tree,Oh, what of the wandering stars?Do they sigh as do weNew sights longing to seeAnd yearn for faraway Mars?Or are their cares more mundane,Their pursuits much more sane,To care less for impossible things?Are their eyes inward turnedAnd their souls boredom burned?