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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/983502
Rated: E · Poetry · Death · #983502
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.









© Copyright 2005 super sleuth (babchia7 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/983502