Zak and the Zombie & Other Creations

[Magile]

**I wouldn't necessarily call this a poem, but more of a tale with a rhyming charm to it, I suppose. I did a few of these, namely the Cavalier Knight, The Boy, and the one you're about to read (if you continue). They all have a moral lesson to them, and usually reflect on something that has occurred in my life, or is just a part of society in general. They are all fairly long, so which ones I do post, I'll put into quotation form to condense things a bit.**

Zak and the Zombie

There lived a lonely boy who sat out by a grave:
He’s the one whom no one likes – the lackluster knave.
Children would not play with him; he seemed to be a scare,
especially to the burliest brat – the one dubbed Roger Blair.
He poked fun at poor ole Zak because he felt it fun,
because he noticed small Zak’s skin had never seen the sun.
Because he saw the matted hair that sat upon Zak’s head,
because he saw that poor ole Zak only spoke with the dead.

Since depressing Zak had no true friends, he made them in his mind,
and with these friends he traveled far; having adventures of all kind;
yet, these adventures led him to the oddest spots, for certain,
as many ended in cemeteries – where life drew up its curtain.
No normal kid could bare the place; they’d hold their breath while passing,
for they knew by breathing there, they’d shorten their life’s lasting.
Yet Zak was never one to give into such suspicion;
after all, his friends were there – unlike the superstition.

Alas, the mind of a young boy can only go so far,
so far before they feel amiss – like travels in the car.
Thus Zak found himself a shovel and dug himself a hole
to pick out bones for a true friend and leave the grave a knoll.
This search would go for quite some time, deep within the night;
surely his actions were going to give his family a horrible fright.
Yet on he went into that hole before he struck fleshy gold:
a skull, a chest, some legs and arms – all skeletal and old.

Ah, but age brings about wisdom that Zak knew he could gain,
like, “how to make a gazillion friends, and remove Roger – the stain.”
And with a tune ringing aloud, Zak built up his big brute,
with head to neck and feet to ankles, the song he’d follow suit.
So fast he built with hasted hands that the creature was complete,
this abomination that he had built by dawn could stand upon feet.
He smiled with smug satisfaction at his new found friend;
but little did he know that this dear zombie spelt his end.

The being pounced upon the boy and licked hi lips in hunger;
digging his teeth in poor Zak’s skull – as toilets endure a plunger.
Soon the beast stood back up and smiled as Zak once did,
and his new companion stood up too – brains leaking from his lid.
“You see that, lad?” it did question, “I give you happiness.”
Zak looked upon his dying blood and felt no feel of bliss.
“You doubt me boy – I see, it’s true! My one eye ne’er fail!
But if you bite your buddies’ brains, it’s you they soon will hail!”

So Zak led Zombie to his school where all the children roam;
it was then that Zombie’s mouth began to oddly foam.
“You’ve done me proud,” he slyly smirked, “you led me to some feasts!
Dig in now, boy – we’ve got little time to convert these lil’ beasts!”
The two hobbled over to the kids and gobbled their little heads,
so soon the playground, once with life, was brimming with the Deads.
Zak took his time with one big brute whose life he gladly slew,
for Roger Blair was not so tough when courage quickly flew.

Zombie burped aloud by Zak and looked upon his child,
“A mighty-fine catch, if I do say so – their blood was not too mild.
Alas, look up – the time is here for me to depart!
But do not fret, for don’t you see? You have no friends to give a start!”
With words muttered in deadite talk, Zombie stepped from the scene,
and Zak looked up with a smug smile – his record was wiped clean.
He’d start anew with special friends, for they were all the same;
but then again, you should not trust a zombie with that claim.

Zak wandered up to Rosie Reed and asked to play four-square,
but Rosie groaned and stumbled away – her mind was elsewhere.
He shrugged and found Georgie Brown to play some hop-scotch;
George, however, fell on his face – his legs were not top notch.
Zak grumbled and groaned and shuffled around to notice something odd,
for everyone gathered by Roger Blair – the brat whose wit is fraud.
He listened with his one good ear and gasped at what he heard:
that Roger was up to his antics again – his actions were absurd!

“Zak’s not a zombie, like all of us. He’s more a stupid freak!
On top of that, look at his face – he’s like some science geek!”
The children laughed and pointed at him; some fingers flying out,
as jaws hung loose and arms fell off while Zak cried like a lout.
His tears popped out his left, dead eye and rolled across the floor
as Zak ran from the evil brats and passed the wire-door.
He ran as far and fast as he could to find his only friend
whose words would never harm his mind and force him to defend.

Into the cemetery he went and sat beside a grave,
to imagine a plethora of wonderful things to cheer this sad knave.
Friends who’d never run away, who’d never find him a scare;
friends who’d never poke fun at him as one Roger Blair.
Their lives would be happy while they’d have some fun
with adventures of all kinds beneath the moon and stars and sun;
yet, somehow these friends would not come to aid his head,
for Zak did not know he could not think – after all, he was now dead.

[Gauntlet-Dragon]

That's actually an excellent poem, IMO.

[Magile]

**This one... makes little sense to me. I wrote it in an odd state, I'm sure, and have no idea why whatever happened... well, happened. It has no real moral story, unless you believe in monsters, but for society, there's a bit of a catch. Enjoy, because this one's a weird one...**

The Boy

There once lived a boy with a mind of his own
who’d give his heart out to a girl – just a loan.
He felt that his life had a very large void,
and the girls that teased made him all annoyed.

He had finally pled with his dear old dad
and asked what he had been doing so bad.
His father looked down and replied with a grin,
“Just give them your heart, and it’s them you shall win!”

The boy thought over the possible outcomes:
“Should I give it to Sheryl who lives in the slums?
Or perhaps that girl Amy whose hands push me down?
Or maybe that shy one, you know, Laura Brown?”

He thought long and hard into the night
when suddenly a shadow gave him a fright.
It bared its black teeth as it slinked ‘cross the wall,
and when it stood up, it was bigger than tall!

Quivering began from the boy’s fluffy sheet,
he tucked under his head and pulled up both his feet.
His hideout was dark, but he saw no black beast,
so he felt he was safe from the gruesome thing’s feast.

But oh, was he wrong, as it picked up his castle,
snorting away at the weak child’s hassle.
“Boy, oh boy, you must have quite a shock
to think that you could keep me out with a door lock!”

He cried for mom, but no voice did sound out.
He tried for dad, but no one heard the shout.
Tears from his eyes began to soak up the mat
as the wicked, vile shadow had words he would spat.

“Yawn, oh yawn, you really are a bore.
Did you really think that I would let your voice just soar?
It’s simple, don’t you see – I have your voice right here.”
So it held out a magic box that kept everything so dear.

The box whistled and rustled in the grasp of that dark thing,
the box that held his very voice that never again would sing.
His tears raced faster down his cheeks, his eyes began to swell,
and he wished with all his might to send that thing to hell.


Shadows chuckled and lamps laughed as nothing did occur,
but the beast did step a one, two back and left his hand to lure.
“It’s mine, it’s mine – I took it from you good!
Say something if you object… I see – you understood!”

“Voice, your voice, it goes back there with me,
and there’s nothing you can do, so just let it be!
I’m sure your life will be so swell, I’m sure you’ll be just fine;
but I must run, because you see, your voice is what I’ll dine!”

So the shadows disappeared, and so the laughter stopped,
And so did the boy’s little heart after it belly-flopped.
He could do nothing but shut his eyes and wish it all a dream;
yet, he knew it to be real, so tears became a stream.

The coming day, he went to school and tried to win a heart,
but it’s so hard to do so, when your only sound’s a fart.
Girls avoided him all day; they would not give dispute,
for no girl wanted such a boy – such a lonely mute.

[Magile]

Okie dokie. I wrote this a while ago, just felt like posting it. It's not too good, as most of my work seems to be. Just... I dunno. Ending was rushed as well. Seems the only ending I tried with was Zak and the Zombie.

The Cavalier Knight

He came a stepping out from waking,
eyes all weary, knees all shaking,
just to save the one he swore an oath to on some floor.
With valiant courage, he gives protection,
those dastardly villains he sends reflection,
to insure his lady could walk on out her house’s wooden door.
His hands did jump at simple tapping,
his eyes did pounce on birds’ flapping,
“By this sword, I’ll see her well,” he set off as he swore.

Approached the house he did, with balance
as he eyed the bedroom’s valance,
all of which stood just beyond a building’s mighty brick.
Those he eyed would know his warding,
for he planned to stop by thwarting;
evil could not get by his gaze with movements very slick.
Pounding on the house’s door hinge,
he looked upon the décor’s great fringe;
“A pleasant sight,” he said aloud with words so ever quick.

Soon the door did swing on open,
and soon he saw the woman, hopin’
that he could solve her problems once again upon this day.
She smiled slightly with eyes as weary
as a man whose life is dreary,
for her help was needed in the room of which she lay.
Sleep was all but nothing; lacking,
as Vikings came for dreams; ransacking,
“Tis a problem,” he thought quietly, “that I do wish to slay.”

On they stepped into a room,
that needed much a dire broom,
with dust enough to choke a cat at once within a breath.
She said, “I sleep within the next place;
yet dreams do give my heart a quick pace,
as my soul does have to endure a place of solid heath.”
He took her hands in gentle notions,
as he thought of sleeping potions,
“I’ll see you safe, or oath I break -- give me curse of death.”

Soon she fell upon her mattress,
laying there as an enchantress;
Beauty’s love had dealt with Time and left with win.
Eyes did shut beneath a curtain,
and her fate was all but certain,
for her brave knight might not be help to that of fellow kin.
Since dreams are not a normal foe,
a sword could not slay as so,
“Forgive me, Lord,” he grabbed a vial, “for this loathly sin.”

He walked into this woman’s chambers,
with floor shaped as a ship’s cambers;
quietly creeping, he went, to give her sweetest dream.
Upon arrive he pulled a bottle,
with liquid thick and label mottle,
to pour the drink upon her lips and prevent another scream.
Down it went, the bottle whole:
a solution to solve her very soul;
“By God,” he thought, “my honour, now, must I redeem.”

So he stood out as a strong post,
to protect his gracefully kind host;
it was all he could think to lend at times so greatly ill.
His right hand places upon a hilt,
his left held a railing stilt;
peering out in front of him to guard a window sill.
Yet soon it hit without a warning
as fire went out – it left much scorning.
“I heard that now!” he felt at once, “A noise so ever shrill!”

Onward he charged into her hallway
as each scream sounded a waylay
to his courage that he once had held to her before.
Stepping quickly with greaves pounding,
echoed screams of shock resounding;
words of pleas, he felt he heard, for help -- he cannot ignore.
Sword soon shimmered out of scabbard
as he swung with deadly hazard;
“I shall protect her at all costs -- the one I do adore!”

Screams departed soon thereafter
and he boomed tremendous laughter,
for he saved this woman from intruder -- whom has fled.
Pulling sword up to his vision,
his eyes widened in decision
that the blade had pierced some heart -- the point was bloody red.
Hastily he reached for a candle,
lighting it so, he griped the handle;
“… Devil’s treachery…” he gasped in silence at her body; dead.

His oath, he swore, would stop her dreaming,
but this day, she ended; screaming
at the nightmare she endured without her saviour’s protection.
And so his curse of death was granted,
the seeds of evil plots were planted;
demons slipped within the house without his eyes’ detection.
With that thought, he took his blade
and wished for forgiving heaven’s glade
as sword did take his very life to honour love’s rejection.