A Life’s Pursuit

                                       He sat as pain surged through his lungs,
                                       A cough invoking the grotesque.
                                       His nose pressed into the old desk,
                                       The desk littered with bloody bungs.
                                       Words erupted as if in tongues
                                       While stepping upon Jacob’s rungs.

                                       Reddened tissues from the old scars
                                       Left from finding what he had sought;
                                       A success he thought- that was naught.
                                       Now at the old desk filled with mars
                                       His old lungs burn with red-hot bars
                                       And before his eyes float the stars.

                                       Scar filled organ deep within him
                                       From the flower sought all his life.
                                       His quest as if seeking a wife,
                                       A relentless pursuit so slim,
                                       But filled with passion not a whim,
                                       Took him to the Forest of Dim.

                                       Under the tree sat his flower.
                                       His life’s quest sat in the cool shade;
                                       In the shade ended his crusade.
                                       This was the ultimate hour
                                       But as his mind filled with power
                                       His lungs filled with a spore shower.

                                       The newly found species brought death.
                                       Death was the gift of his life’s quest
                                       As bacteria filled his breast.
                                       Like a scene played out of Macbeth
                                       At the desk struggling for breath,
                                       A fate much worse than crystal meth.

                                       Death paid in full by his pursuit
                                       Of the rare flower of his dreams.
                                       Dreams beautiful to the extremes
                                       Planted down deep where they took root.
                                       From the root grew the deadly fruit,
                                       The flower took his life like loot.