The Plan

((OOG: The following is written in elegant cursive))

Fear is an art not yet perfected,

A feat which cannot go neglected.

And so I've decided to put to the test

Those you've not yet groomed to beat their chest.

What my plan entails, you will soon receive a hint,

Paid for with not too much more than some mere pocket lint

Beginning in a town where estranged family dwells,

In public mockery, the hottest of all the hells,

Pretending to sup on wine in silence while the town abides

But is it he who holds the sword or holds the gold decides?

We begin to answer the very query in the home of the headstrong

While you ask yourselves the question... what could possibly go wrong?

~The Artist

Given what we just went through with the Living Paint situation, count me intrigued, "artist." It is not often we have such bizarre poetry left on our notice board.

Observe, good folk, a mysterious poet
Whom through simplistic rhymes presumes to know it all
But only proves their talent to be small
And their mastery of words to be weak

This fool makes public a threat
To those whom are seen as being wet behind their ears
And pontificates upon the topic of fears
As if presuming their intended prey to be meek

So I would urge you to move on
No one would notice you were gone
Your verse simply begs
To have you sent home, tail tucked 'twixt your legs
As I continue my literary roasting streak

-S

((OOG: Not Angeliana))

Bugger off. Travance already has an Artist, and I be better than thee.

~ D

I find it is quite clear to me that you are lacking lyrically
I imagine there's more you'll be lacking
By testing those with Travancian backing

However, I am intrigued by ye who fiddles with riddles
Even though your 'plan' is shite in the middle of worthless drivel

I'll end this with a warning, I've got no need to pro-long
Bring us harm and I will show you what can go wrong.

P.S.: Your third to last line makes no sense grammatically, but it would alter the flow if you were to add another word. Your use of metaphoric rhetoric throughout the piece does slightly make up for it, however. I'm not entirely sure why I'm critiquing you, but it's a lot better than cowering in the fear you mention in your opening stanza, isn't it?

The young in season he puts to the test,
upon this moon of Valor's Rest.
If thee be older it may be wise,
to give the youth here a chance to rise.

To the artist, our young to vex,
careful be of purposed text.
For if Travance has done one thing,
its defeating Evil and the curse it brings.

In all may Valos watch and guide,
that thee all may work against his studied jest.
Our newest residents this Feast shall provide,
proof this artist is merely a pest.
So come and call upon our young,
for it is you, not them, who will be hung.