Portend
por·tend \por-TEND\
verb
To indicate (events, misfortunes, etc.) as in future; to foreshadow; to bode.
↓ Transcript
WOI - 0015: PORTEND (less caps)
[ Panel 1 ]
NARRATOR: I will NEVER forget how beautiful she WAS in that moment. Her skin, so soft, as I kissed it DEARLY… Youthful as she once was, that day, so DREARY. SHE WEPT in fear as the clouds PORTENDED, how sadly that day had ENDED...
:: A man looks tenderly at his sadden lady as he kisses her hand to comfort her. ::
[ Panel 2 ]
GENTLEMAN 1: …and THEN what happened?
GENTLEMAN 2: I KILLED the bitch obviously.
[ Panel 1 ]
NARRATOR: I will NEVER forget how beautiful she WAS in that moment. Her skin, so soft, as I kissed it DEARLY… Youthful as she once was, that day, so DREARY. SHE WEPT in fear as the clouds PORTENDED, how sadly that day had ENDED...
:: A man looks tenderly at his sadden lady as he kisses her hand to comfort her. ::
[ Panel 2 ]
GENTLEMAN 1: …and THEN what happened?
GENTLEMAN 2: I KILLED the bitch obviously.
um….. i love this so much….it is beautiful, hilarious, and it has monocles…. these are the things of dreams
Haha! Glad to hear it. Thanks for the comments! :]
Amazing!!
haha, thanks, I was pretty happy with this one when I finished it. Fun concept. MEAN POETRY! XD
The way you spun that out was masterly. Had an Edgar Allan Poe sort of feel to the start, and finished with a “disappointed pimp” tone.
Haha, yeah the “pimp tone” at the end STILL makes me laugh.
Hahaha Poe? It sounds more like Robert Browning. I love Robert Browning, who seems to always wax poetry about dead women.”That moment she was mine, mine, fair,Perfectly pure and good: I foundA thing to do, and all her hairIn one long yellow string I woundThree times her little throat around,And strangled her. No pain felt she;I am quite sure she felt no pain.”
~excerpt from Porphria’s Lover
That’s kind of what it feels like. I still write poetry, though. No matter how horrible it might be.
Never heard of this “Robert Browning” but I like his style. ^_~ lol Think I may look up some of his stuff later.
ah how exquisite murder can be when put into the tones and rhymes of poetry.OH poetry how you dig your sharpened nails deep within my skin, the only way to touch my soul,becareful it might just touch you though.moo
…that was a strange poem. moo.
was it now? hehehe, the madness got to me a little to far this day, its starting to kick in like a big bong it,takes a while but when it hits your down for the countwait where did the horse of every colour come fromdreadfull mountoh no i can feel it about to come moo
you sir…. are interestingly harlotish
Too True.