This is something we had to do in English class last week and Light Our Darkest Hour convinced my to post it here ;) The point of the project was to take a poem and rewrite it in another diction (meaning rewrite it with different lingo, same meaning) So, being the Transformers fan I am, I chose the poem about a car crash and made it form Ratchet's perspective. The original poem is called Auto Wreck by Kari Shapiro and is first, beneath it is my rewritten version. Some of the language can be a little hard to decipher, so just shoot me a message if you need something cleared up :) I promise my next post will be the start of an actual story! No more songs/poems haha
Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, Ratchet, or the poem Auto Wreck
Atuo Wreck (by Kari Shapiro)
poem
Its quick soft silver bell beating, beating,
And down the dark on ruby flare
Pulsing out red light like an artery,
Past beacons and illuminated clocks
Wings in a heavy curve, dips down,
And breaks speed, entering the crowd.
The doors leap open, emptying light;
Stretchers are liad out, the mangled lifted
And stowed into the little hospital.
Then the bell, breaking hte hush, tolls once,
And the ambulance with its terrible cargo
Rocking, slightly rocking, moves away,
As the doors, as an afterthought, are closed.
We are deranged, walking among the cops
Who sweep glass and are large and composed.
one is still making notes under the light.
One with a bucket douches ponds of blood
Into the street and gutter.
One hangs lanterns on the wrecks that cling,
Empty husks of locusts, to iron poles.
Our throats were tight as tourniquets,
Our feet were bound with splintss, but now,
Like convalescents intimate and gauche,
We speak through sickly smiles and warn,
With the studdorn saw of common sense,
The grim joke and banal resolution.
The traffic moves around with care,
But we remain, touching a wound
That opens to our richest horror.
Already old, the question Who shall die?
Becomes unspoken Who is innocent?
For death in war is done by hands;
Suicide has cause and stillbirth, logic;
And cancer, simple as a flower, blooms.
But this invites the occult mind,
Cancels our physics with a sneer,
And spatters all we knew of denouement
Across the expedient and wicked stones.
Auto Wreck (rewritten as Ratchet)
poem
The tinkering of a siren reaches my audios.
A blaring light cus through te dark,
Crimson and angry like a Decepticon's glare.
A vehicle similar to my own alt. mode
Ignores the optic stinging lights lining the street,
And swerves to a hault, riding low on its shocks.
The scurrying organic crowd parts as
Doors are flung wide.
The shattered and destroyed are
Stowed into that forlorn hospital.
A single, despairing bleep and the ambulance takes leave
In a mournful lone parade.
Those left are irrational and amiless among officers,
Who remain stoic and composed as commanders should.
The familiar scribble of a report being written
As another attempts to hide in the gutter
The organic energon they are drowning in.
The lanterns one hangs are comfortless,
Cold, grayed out frames carrying false light.
My spark tightens as I glance towards the survivors.
Movement evolving past shuffles,
Voices struggling past choked throats,
Trivial nothings are spoken
In an instinct for something familiar.
I step back carefully, granting space
For those still faw and fading away.
Already old, the question How many more must die?
Becomes unspoken Will any remain alive?
For death is war done by servos;
Bond break has cause and cosmic rust, logic;
Impurities in a protoform may bloom unexpectedly,
But this is senseless, hopeless, oppressive.
I, a lowly medic, can only continue on
While Primus mocks us with
The face of the Destroyer.