I see your prompt, and raise you a poem that has nothing to do with it. Please enjoy:

When the end of days arrive,

By Macaulay Macaulay Culkin Culkin, will the chaos drive.

When magma springs from sacred rock,

To the bunkers the quackery shall flock.

Ding Ding Ding

And through the ‘sapien bare land and fog,

A man with a triangle has but a single job.

Though his sight was such a shock

He began to play triangle rock.

And through this musical interlude - a single feather by them flew,

‘‘Twas the sacred owl! The owl that did mew.

60 foot the owl stood,

And so still was he as made of wood.

Ding Ding

The man, he did not cease his craft,

Over the chaos, his music? A raft!

The fingers, they did bleed with sound,

Or else in mayhem would have drownt’.

Feathers of obsidian rain,

Doth he not feel the pain?

With the world apon his wings,

Does not new life forth spring.

Ding

When the world as we knoweth does crack,

Will it all simply fade into black?

And when the credits of the universe show

Should that triangle rock never flow?

My friend and I wrote this in 20 minutes. Tis based on a conversation we had a bus ride from Oxford. We just gave a paper copy to our English Powtry teacher with no context and left for the weekend. Thoughts?