When Silence fell and Eleven ended
the universe gave a mighty quake then snapped and bended.
Vicious truth when Dean fell next,
Heaven lost and scrambling for sacred texts.
Then Sherlock too took a leap for Death,
a mockery for the press after his last breath.
In Baker Street the kettle screams its rage,
echoed by the three so rudely left behind on the stage
of life with no answered to their many questions,
such as how, or why - they go through the motions.
And in secret they each practice the art of Black Bear Tang Soo Do.
The years pass without hide nor hair of those three to show,
John, Sam, and Clara are left to their own nightmares and demons,
each of them collecting the signs but ignoring the beacons.
A creak along the door outside sounds out
and shadows three sigh, whispering without.
So, I wrote this as my final poem in my poetry class. I have absolutely no idea where it came from, only that it had to follow a strict set of rules and - miraculously - I pulled it off. So... yeah. Enjoy the randomness that I have slaved over for three hours. :D
-Raine