Obscuris Vera Involvens

One of our Poetry's fashions---

and one of its most hideous fads---

is that it has lost its passions,

replaced by its "I feel bads."


What once was a talented skill

is now a sophomore's bad jest;

just heartburn to spread and spill

and get it off the chest.


So each one puts chaotic "feeling"

into a rather unmanned parade;

fearful of this fact's revealing,

that each will never, not ever, get laid.


And every poetic convention

is jettisoned cavalierly;

so as not to obstruct the bid for attention,

the epic display of one's misery.



Author's Notes/Comments: 

The title is from a line in Book VI of The Aeneid, by Vergil.  I hope Vergil will not feel that I have taken advantage.  But, then again, Dante might have infringed upon his literary singularity by making him trudge all those footsteps through the Inferno and the Purgatorio.

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