Oh, children. Back when poetfreak was not a name we cherished,
But the actual THING itself,
When this was not a prototype of all we’d loved,
And that dear playground none could leave,
It was free for all players,
We would comment as we liked,
Yet nary chatbox beckoned users,
Nor did folk post and wait for readers,
We ALL played and traded comments; it was not a soulless game.
There was no moniter below saying who was present
We just were, and many too, at that.
Now we’ve the ghost of bygone days tricked out to suit most appetites.
But what we truly loved is…Dead.
And we all know.
I’d finish with Ciao, but I’m not leaving, I just never have an appetite to hang out here.
Haha, don’t mind me: I’ve been living in a colourless world since early 2016 when my best friend gave up the ghost.