Author's Note: Salutations, my fair fellow fanpeople! Alas, I am back, and am currently cringing in fear of the onslaught to come. To clarify: yes, I do understand that this is FanFICTION, and we're supposed to be able to turn here when in the need of some solid prose. And, I swear it, I've been working on a new tale to post. But, right now, between work, homework, college, and my newfound obsession with the show "Heroes," I've been a bit too burnt out to dedicate the time to my little story that I want to. And I do love poetry – and thus, my idea for a new venture was born!
This will be a series of poems, seven in the end, each one dedicated to a character from Criminal Minds. I'm not forcing myself to stay up late and contemplate pentameter, so this will be updated and completed as little rhymes come to me – there shan't be a regular or specific timeline. (Truthfully, I've had this idea for a while, and only decided that the time had come for posting because I completed my first one in class today.) There will be no particular order to the characters – whoever gets done first gets posted next. Additionally, all poems will be done in the style of "Villanelles" (hence, the name of this work), which, if you don't understand, I highly encourage you to Google – they're wickedly complicated, but lovely to hear and write.
Disclaimer(s): I do not own, nor pretend to, the poetry form in the following piece: some French guy invented this style (villanelles) about 300 years ago, I think. Yes, the titles to each of my poems are a segue to particular episodes of Criminal Minds, which I also do not claim any rights to (save my extensive DVD collection). And if I owned Derek Morgan, then maybe my washing machine would be fixed by now.
Reviews are unnecessary, but are still read and appreciated.
Do enjoy.
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"Profiler, Profiled"
"You give what you have, and take what you can."
Isn't that the way of it in this world?
Still, I do my best to be a good man.
I hid from my problems; I always ran –
and alone, in silence, the Dark Thoughts swirled.
You give what you have, and take what you can.
I was angry before my life began,
(from) (and at) violence my way was hurled . . .
. . . I always wanted to be a good man . . .
I've since found myself a family . . . clan.
Our feelings, our secrets – oh, how they've swirled.
You give what you have, and take what you can.
It took time, . . . love, . . . and a "profiling ban,"
but the heart grows, the real self unfurled, . . .
And I think I'm becoming a good man.
I stay afloat – I am part of God's plan.
Hope is my lifeboat, to which I am curled.
You give what you have, you take what you can –
Still, I want to call myself a good man.
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