Those Four Walls are Witness of a Battle

“Those four walls are witness of a battle
Of a long, hard battle I had in Seattle,

Which history wrote in its book as “so glorious”
And to which I bravely came out as victorious.

This tale talks of a young, beautiful girl
Who got trapped in a vortex and drowned in the swirl.

Her death was observed by a sailor so brave
Promising to avenge her death to the waves.

And so he embarked in a journey in his carriage
With a plan in mind with no class of miscarriage.

When the sailor named Tom reached the sand of the shore
He took a vast glance to the ship he adored.

A vessel so great and powerful had never existed
Until Tom had planned to build it in a way really twisted.

Sails big enough to attract all the wind
To the point the sailor got his sight blind.

The hull was polished out of some brown stone
Yet the vessel could float and by wind be blown.

Tom remembered the plan he had thought
For avenging the girl’s death he truly sought.

He had to go through the madly furious swirl
To go to the underworld and save the girl,

Yet what really was there was unknown
And without a notice Tom sailed alone.

As he neared the vortex which the girl drowned
Tom noticed something strange, maybe a sound.

His ship by the whirlpool in an instant was consumed
And to unspeakable hells he had been doomed.

Darkness covered the waters like mist
But Tom knew he had to resist.

Then in a second, dark turned into a scepter and a giant
I was the giant and Tom was acting really defiant.

We had to combat as he refused to go down the door,
The door that…”

“Ok, Theodore, I think it’s enough. You’re delusional. I can see that all this adventure was really the tale of an anthropomorphized piece of poop you pooped while you were in the bathroom. I can easily recognize it; you have some kind of schizophrenia. I think you should take a break from your job. Here is the medication you’ll be getting for the next few days” said Theodore’s psychiatrist Harold.

He then ripped off a piece of paper from his notebook which he gave to Theodore before he left the room. “Poor Theodore, he thinks he is going to get anywhere writing stories for little kids in that style of his,” Harold laughed, “What is sillier is his pen name: Dr. Seuss,” he sighed, “Poor boy…”