The mind can be your friend, your enemy, or both.
Food for thought. |
As I started writing this, the poem was going in one direction, but soon took on a life of it's own. As it progressed, I thought about the book I read in school titled, "The Count of Monte Cristo". I wondered how he might have felt alone with no one knowing where he had gone or even if he were alive. The gruel he was served could barely keep a rat alive much less a full grown man. I hope you enjoy it. Hungry Eyes by E C Wesch His hungry eyes devoured the feast set before him, and each succulent morsel was vividly envisioned in his mind. Bountiful meats in rich savory juices, luscious tarts, and pastries, tantalized his senses. Colorful vegetation, a creation of some unseen hand took center stage, and played upon his imagination. A treasure trove of delights with no end in sight, satisfied his never ending hunger. Aromas of such sweet delicacies titillated his senses. A beefy portion placed before him, sent his hands a tremble. Greedily, he wiped them on his shirt, in anticipation of satisfying his basic need. A golden goblet lay empty , giving credence to his abominable thirst. His smacking lips and lolling tongue, brought his animal instincts to bear. Grasping the biggest morsel he could find, his greedy teeth ravenously tore through the succulent meat. Licking his greasy fingers. Suddenly, the horrific wail of a crazed animal shattered the silence. Frightened, his empty soiled hands fell limply to his lap. His anguished screams penetrated the keep and birds took flight, as rats, and roaches scurried into darkened recesses. Clutching his tattered rags he rocked rythemically to and fro. The sound of bony fists pounding on the cold, stone floor, echoed his lament. A solitary streak of light illuminated the empty shell of the man. Pulling at his hair the tortured soul wept cursing his tormentors. For 'twas naught but wishful dreams, of a starving man condemned to die, alone and afraid in the dungeon ...of despair. |