A Poem of Sorts

I am many things. I can (just about) sing, i can (just about) act, I can (just barely) play a keyboard one-handed. I can (just about) do a lot of things. I can (apparently) write poetry. This is the topic of this post.

This morning, I wrote a poem. I made it up as I went along. It was strange, progressing from merest innocence, to a morbid end. It was quite the feeling, as the tables were turning. Here is how it went:

Just standing, standing,
Standing by the door,
Standing, Standing,
Is it worth it anymore?

I'm walking, walking,
Don't know where,
Walking, Walking,
Don't even care.

Then running, running,
Here they come again,
Running, Running,
Don't trip.

Suddenly jumping, jumping,
Here's hoping,
Jumping, Jumping,
Don't land head-first.

Now dying, dying,
Where'd I go wrong?
Dying, Dying,
'Doncha just love crash landings?

To defend my sanity, I will now announce that in Welcome to DROL, no main goodies die. Some other characters die, a lot of baddies die, but none of the goodies. That's in Book Two...