Saturday, 11 October 2014



It was made weeks ago after this writer sought pictures of a girl named Karen.

Known by many as a model based from her photographs, she is a studious girl who loves to take pictures as well as sketching dresses dreaming to become a designer in the future. And as observed through her pictures, it seems that she loves science with her interest in looking at chemical compositions, mixing compounds, if not staring at the microscope about the composition of a cloth fiber such as cotton or rayon.

And since he felt so inspired both after seeing pictures as well as once met her in a demonstration, this writer seemed quite compelling to make a pseudo-alchemical poem (perhaps because of reading alchemical poetry) showing her life and her love for knowledge while most made her known for her beauty.

Or let's just say she's a vixen that is, more than a vixen most people think of, as proven by this poem yours truly had made for.

"Alone in the lab, staring at the chalkboard
Full of compositions, strangely written word
Can't sleep as coffee made her awake
She has to finish work for a grade of one or two for chrissake

She filled the papers with compositions and sketches
And in the trash can lies crumpled pieces be burned by matches
Trying to create magenta instead of a purple dye
Hoping it may succeed else an endless cry

Yes, she's indeed beautiful to see her but to be an alchemist is her outmost dream
She had both pictures and the ramp but in the lab she's commonly seen
If not in the dorm where she has to sleep
Yes, she wants to sleep after a days full of creep

Then suddenly we seen her in the TV screen
Therefore we amaze at her no matter few words spoke so it seems
But in spite of the ramp and screens she still has to face the board
Full of chemical compositions, for a grade of one as reward

Since most looked upon you as a goddess, but for this person she's human
In spite of her beauty seen in pictures, few would seen her eating la mien (ramen)
We looked at her in the ramp and in the screen, but we seldom hear her sing
Perhaps in dreams hear her voice that makes flowers bloom in spring

And as she finished her week-long work comes a week end rest
Going back to her dorm, after a bath comes bed in a night's best
With a silent prayer that says "don't bring us to the test"
That includes the floors with a sudden creeping pest

And suddenly the spirits of the Alchemists came and hath her fetch
And brought her from the place far from the wretch
There sought the alembic and its liquid boiling fourth
Whose contents came further north

In it the chemical that boils is all but simple thing
But to the old spirits it has both soul, life to bring
But as the cellphone end rung forced her to wake
Leaving something for a class for her to make

And again like before with the professor has to look
The maiden in her lab garb gave anything from the book
As if making a potion for maladies a cure
Bringing beauty perhaps so tender and pure

But despite all these still think her as they see
A model from the ramp, or in the screen all end glee
But for her she has anything work to do
Hoping it is not a grade of five, three or even two

Let others think different, than contenting that is same
For the world is degenerating, all is but insane
The flask is boiling and the chemical is blue
There is nothing to say but real beauty is in you."