The Curse

Sounds are heard of battles fought

A baby cries and runs on the road

A potential documentary is being shot

 

A man sits quietly in his abode

A document in front of him lies

His mind seems to bear a great load

 

Heedless of the harbinger baby’s cries

He examines the sheets up close

Hoping to discredit his eyes

 

But the fact stares at his nose

There can be no doubt

Before him lies his own prose

 

As the inferno rages without

He reads again the author’s name

‘Tis not him. ‘Plagiarism!’ he shouts

 

This work shot quickly to fame

Titled ‘Dark Days and Gloomy Looks’

From a blogpost full of deadly refrain

 

Stolen and published by a cunning crook

Who thought he’d fatten his purloined purse

Off an unknown blogger’s gobbledygook 

 

Little did the crook know of the curse

That on all the writer’s posts was dense

(Hatred against copycats he did nurse)

 

The spell of doom was full of bad rational sense

The clauses were complex, but said just one thing

Plagiarised posts would come alive with vengeance!

 

Woe behold the death-bells as they ring

All the prose was vague and spoke doom!

All unoriginal horrors from hell did spring

 

A host of enslaving ghosts haunted every room

Uninspired vampires flaunted stifling fangs

 Politically correct zombies spread the gloom

 

But then the man who was wronged felt pangs

of guilt as one such creature strolled in

And for reading an offensive work our P did hang.  

 

 

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