I stand here today to present a great sigh,
A poem I wrote for the day he would die.
I doubt He has never heard this one sung,
Except for maybe in the rare parcel tongue.
You were formally known as "you know who",
My dear Voldemort, you know it is true.
People often make jokes about your nose,
All of your fake friends and followers and foes.
I am one who does not feel any such need,
The crazy rumors I would rather not feed.
"You should come back," a thought no one has wished,
Because, you see, you were never missed.
You killed a thousand and a million more,
Now you have died and have no more in store.
Ok I have lied, about not making jokes,
I cut your finger, then in vinegar it soaks.
Teenage fan girls, you reminded me of,
A ring, diary, locket, and a pet you love.
Even obsessing over a teenage boy,
You're almost as bad as Draco Malfoy.
Your early life, an interesting riddle,
Dumbledore thought he might help you a little.
But much to his sorrow you still went astray,
Led by pride to your funeral today.
You longed to find love, it never appeared,
James, Lily and Severus found you quite weird.
Too proud to move on, too strong to fade away,
Their lack of interest led to my house that day.
You might have prospered, your success won,
If not for my parents' love for their son.
All that remained after death was a mark,
But you breathed again in the graveyard dark.
You saw that you had not enough power,
To win over a love that chooses not to cower.
You had to prove yourself over again,
Instead of just simply avoiding the sin.
People were scared of what you might do,
To show you would do what you wanted to.
You couldn't choose love, was too late for that,
But you turned yourself into a little brat.
Fear of spiders, is Arachnophobia,
Fear of tight spaces, is Claustrophobia.
But a fear of you, is just, common sense,
Now as I look back, it is all in past tense.
Your life was a long, sad, depressing story,
When you passed all yelled a cheer of glory.
You are now dead, we stopped being scared,
Followers being the only ones who cared.
You were loved by, well, like, no one... ever,
But your life, though vain, was quite an endeavor.
Remembered in a way you should be ashamed,
Forever, the man who (still) shall not be named.