I am making both public so that others can use her learning curve, sort of like a group date or something. At least you can all bond over hating me and thinking I don't know good writing when I see it.

I would like help getting across to the author that "Yee Olde English"⁽¹⁾ is a waste of effort, that one should have some small grasp on what a word means before you use it ⁽²⁾, and that prepositions and adverbs aren't confetti ⁽³⁾. I'm not even going to mention the defused and disparate time sense in the so-called verb usage. Split infinitives are not cool. And just for a parting shot, this is a poetry free arena ⁽⁴⁾. If you want to post poetry, then go to the poetry shooting gallery and put it there.

I can only be so nice for so long. Please, please, please put DOWN the thesaurus, pick up the dictionary, and try to learn how to write normally before you try to write fancifully.

  Goodbye, Merdael

  Oh Merdael, how ⁽³⁾ I still ⁽³⁾ stand over your grave every Christmas night ⁽¹⁾. I still recall the times you held deep pride ⁽²⁾, glutted to ⁽³⁾ your demise ⁽²⁾, had unmatched lust ⁽²⁾, carried your problems onto ⁽³⁾ other people ⁽²⁾, usurped businesses from others ⁽²⁾, felt insecure as the people around you were merry ⁽¹⁾, and struck those who blew your fuse ⁽²⁾. These memories will forever ⁽³⁾ be past ⁽¹⁾, but will forever ⁽³⁾ cross my mind ⁽¹⁾.

Have you not forgotten me ⁽¹⁾, the one you ever so ⁽³⁾ loathed at ^{(1) (3)}?

Yes, I do remember the first day we met; the day that rain threatened to drop ⁽¹⁾ on the streets of Brooklyn. I was middle-class ⁽²⁾ and you were an aristocrat ⁽²⁾, one that ⁽³⁾ was filled with so much pride ⁽¹⁾. On ⁽³⁾ that day, you demanded, "Clean off ⁽³⁾ the mud from my shoes, it seems you are muddy enough!"

I looked at the mud on your feet, then up to you, smiling at the insecurity I saw in your eyes. You grew enraged with my insubordinate ⁽²⁾ behavior, causing you to scream, "Filthy wench ^{(1) (2)}, out of my site you stand!" ^{(1) (2) (3)}

I chuckled and walked pass your pompous form.

The second day, I watched you in the shadows of the café ⁽¹⁾. Predictably, you pushed people away ⁽³⁾ from your path ⁽²⁾ and threatened them with your resources and wrath. Sitting down, you demanded some ⁽³⁾ shrimp scampi with spaghetti, but the café had none. Unexpectedly ⁽²⁾, you screamed at the manager, insulting him in his café. When you finished mocking ⁽²⁾ the manager of the cafe, you spitted ⁽²⁾ in his face and proudly away. ⁽³⁾

On the third day, you walked by my humble abode ⁽¹⁾. The first person you ever ⁽³⁾ set eyes was on my daughter ⁽¹⁾, one who was merely ⁽³⁾ sixteen winters old ⁽¹⁾. But you cared not ⁽¹⁾" you wanted to feel her untouched bosom ⁽¹⁾. I stepped in ⁽³⁾ between you and her to protect her from your touch and asked you kindly to leave my property. However ⁽³⁾, being the prideful man you were, you refused to do so. I repeated myself a bit harsher ⁽²⁾, but instead ^{(2) (3)} you pulled out a gun. Then ⁽³⁾ you shot my house and windows and left my daughter and I in ruin ^{(1) (2)}. I frowned and embraced ⁽²⁾ her as you walked away ⁽³⁾.

When the fourth day came by ⁽³⁾, I was in the park, reading my book. You? Well, you were walking in the park, making your men fan you as you made sweat ^{(1) (2)}. Utters ⁽²⁾ were heard ⁽¹⁾, so I listened intently ⁽²⁾⁽³⁾ as ⁽³⁾ I heard one of your men complain, "Master, may I please take a break now? I been fanning you for hours!" But of course ^{(1) (3)}, you would not fan yourself " you felt above it. My eyes widened as you took a knife and slit his throat and ended his life. You left his corpse instantly ⁽²⁾, being too proud to take responsibility. I frowned and closed my book, standing and walking away to look for help. What in the Heavens or Hells has lead to this?

Four days have passed since you spitted ⁽²⁾ on the grounds of the café. Opening a newspaper article ⁽²⁾, I read about you buying the land the café was set upon ^{(1) (3)}. Not only did you do that ⁽³⁾; you ordered the café to be torn up ⁽³⁾. This made me wonder if this was done by ⁽³⁾ a grudge ⁽²⁾. I found you quite ⁽³⁾ the megalomaniac, but I did little ⁽³⁾ to budge ⁽²⁾.

It has been days, but you still ⁽³⁾ lusted for my daughter  you desired to take her virginity ⁽²⁾. <­ As a side note here, most people that have lovers are not virgins since sex is so often part of being lovers, as compared to being in love, or dating or having a crush on someone etc.> That day ⁽²⁾, my daughter came home in tears and told me of ⁽³⁾the pain she could not bare ⁽¹⁾; she told me that her lover ⁽²⁾ was dead and told me he was shot in the head. She described the stranger ⁽²⁾, described him with a profile that fitted ⁽²⁾ you ⁽¹⁾. While your actions tampered ⁽²⁾ with my patience ⁽²⁾, I knew that I could not prove to the proper authorities that the murderer was you.

I came home from my daily routine one day to see my walls decorated in blood. With ⁽³⁾ further observation ⁽²⁾, I found the corpse of my daughter, naked and covered in blood. What she did to deserve such a fate ^(1)(2)(3)? Alas ⁽³⁾, I did not know ⁽¹⁾, but I did take note of the knife in her violated body; I recognized it to be ⁽³⁾(well sort of) the one you used to kill your servant. Tears flooded my eyes; my hate for you rose ^{(1) (2)}!

Weeks have passed since I buried my daughter. This night, however, you were with a trusted acquaintance ⁽²⁾. I watched in ⁽³⁾ a distance as you walked in an alley with him. You both disappeared from the naked eye ⁽¹⁾. It was less than two minutes before I heard a gun shot that night, which made me wondered ⁽²⁾ where your shadows ⁽²⁾ had lead (ok I give in what is it with past tense becoming present tense mid sentence?) you that time. The man walked out of the alley and left the sheriff to investigate the events of that night.

Worry not, dear Merdael, I no longer hold wrath ⁽²⁾ for you ⁽¹⁾. You'd like that too much, wouldn't you? Instead, I walk to your grave every Christmas night to remind you of your tragic ⁽²⁾ days and nights. Are you suffering, Merdael? Oh, I know you are suffering! After all, you paid ⁽²⁾ your due ⁽¹⁾⁽²⁾, if not still paying for it now.

I part ⁽²⁾ now and leave you at rest ⁽¹⁾; I think I gave you plenty of company tonight. Just remember that things come back in time. Goodbye, Merdael.

  NOTE: Hope this cleaned up the previous grammar errors that I had. If not, tell me what I'm doing wrong, heh. Thanks.

  Revision
  
   This revision, attempted by a brave member who shall remain anonymous, more clearly shows the story. Such as it is. It does clean out most of the poe-esque language attempts, the more bizarre verb tense issues, and gives a little dignity to the main character. But nothing can help the actual plot.

Oh, Merdael, I still stand over your grave every Christmas night. I still recall your pride and your unmatched desires. You infected others with your troubles, devoured businesses, and violently displayed your wrath. These memories will always plague my mind.

Have you forgotten me?

Rain threatened the streets of Brooklyn the day we first met. You were so arrogant; I expected nothing else when passing a member of the middle class like me. You demanded something of me, however, as you passed by: "Clean off the mud from my shoes, it seems you could use some more!"

I looked at the mud on your feet before meeting your eyes and smiling at the insecurity I saw. Enraged, you spat "Filthy wench, out of my sight!" as I chuckled and walked past.

The second day, I watched you in the shadows of the café. Predictably, you pushed people away and threatened them with your resources. As you sat you demanded some shrimp scampi with spaghetti, but they were out of shrimp. You screamed at the manager, insulting him in his café. When you finished you spat in his face and proudly walked away.

On the third day you walked by my humble abode and first saw my daughter. She had only seen sixteen winters, but you cared not; you wanted to feel her untouched bosom. Savoring the delicate meeting of flesh and bone, your insatiable eyes devoured her every curve. Of course I intervened: I needed to protect my daughter from men such as yourself. I asked you kindly to leave my property. However, being the prideful man you were, you refused. I repeated myself, more sternly this time. Instead you drew a gun and shot the windows out of my home, leaving my daughter and I in ruin. I could do nothing but frown and embrace her as you left.

When the fourth day came I was in the park reading a book. You were taking a stroll in that same park, making your servants fan you as you made sweat. I listened intently as I heard one of them complain "Master, may I please take a break now" I been fanning you for hours!" But of course, you would not deign to fan yourself. My eyes widened as I saw the knife. You then slit his throat then left his corpse in disdain, as if the site of your own work was beneath notice. I scowled and closed my book, walking away to look for help. What in the Heavens or Hells has lead to this?

Four days have passed since you spat on the grounds of the café. Opening a newspaper, I read that you bought the land and ordered the café demolished. Was this the fruition of some petty grudge? I knew you were a megalomaniac, and though it offended me I did nothing.

And you still desired my daughter. That day, she came home in tears and told me her love had been shot in the head. The person she described as the murderer could only have been you. I knew that I could do nothing although the pain was more than my daughter could bear.

A few days later I came home to see blood on my walls and my daughter lying naked on the floor. What did she do to deserve such a fate? The knife in her violated body was the same one used to kill your servant. Tears flooded my eyes and pain wracked my body. For all of my suffering I could only hate you more.

Weeks have passed since I buried my daughter. That night, however, you were with a trusted acquaintance and I watched in a distance as you walked down an alley with him. It was less than two minutes before I heard a shot ring. Where your shadows had lead you this time? The man walked out of the alley and left the remains.

Worry not, dear Merdael: the wrath I held for you has since calmed. Wouldn't you love to hear that I hated you? Instead, I walk to your grave every Christmas night to remind you. Are you suffering, Merdael? Oh, I know you are suffering! After all, you know your deeds, and pay for them now.

I am leaving now; I think I gave you enough company tonight. Just remember that things come back in time. Goodbye, Merdael.

  Please comment on the plot and the issues that you personally see in the structure and form of the story. Let this be a lesson to us all.