I have a bad habit of commenting on poor Jeff VanderMeer’s blog entries. (It won me a stack of fantastic books, once, which startled me more than a little.) The following, tangentially related to my last post, resulted from that habit. I’ve cross-posted it here from his blogpost, just because it’s the sort of crap I want to be able to look back on in a few years, turn slightly green and mutter ‘oh dear God what was I thinking’ over.

(Furthermore, as of moment of going to press, it’s moderated, and god knows if it’ll actually end up publicly posted. xD)

It was written on a whim, which makes it, by definition, whimsical. Er.

My hobby has been called by many grim.
The av’rage man, who avoids the macabre,
Shies away, afraid it will somehow rob
Him of humanity: it’s not for him.

I, though: I find those men far too prim.
In monuments to those who live no more,
I find naught ghastly; rather, I find sure
Beauty in the elder stones and the dim

Remembrance, though crumbling stone and rotten
Edifice, image of those forgotten.

…you know, they may be right in calling me a bit on the morbid side.