POETRY ON MEDIUM
The Merchant’s Boy
~Part Two: A Story of Misfortune Unhinged~
He forgets his hunger in the blink of an eye.
He puts his weakness at the back of his mind.
He ignores the fact that gold cannot satisfy
The groan of his belly; the strength of its grind.
He cackles madly as he looks his fill,
Gazing at the grotto with brazen delight.
He guffaws as he imagines the wealth of his will,
The things this could buy; Father’s wrath it’d ignite.
He staggers to his feet with an itch in his hands
And itch to take and pocket and own.
His stare bares the gilded robe of the lands
His fingers reach forth to touch golden stone.
His eyes become saucers as he tests the stone’s weight.
A Cheshire grin dominates his smooth face.
He pictures Father’s features- rouge and irate,
When he learns of his son’s triumphant fate.
In the blink of an eye, in the flutter of a second,
Stone turns to sand and sand bleeds into dust.
Unfettered glee and mirth have lessened.
Perplexity and horror interlace with disgust.
His purloining fingers grasp a heap of old coins.
His frantic hands shove them deep in his pants.
His lecherous gaze strips the land of its poise
As he hunts down his next monetary chance.
Time after time after elusive time,
Riches become nothing; nothing multiplies in turn.
He races through the cave, despair at its prime,
But the fabled land of gold is, to dust, returned.
His boat, in absentia; his sailor, no more.
He finds himself between barren land and vast sea.
Not a soul nurtured knowledge of his trip heretofore.
He stumbles beneath the truth that he’s lost Father’s lee.
He sinks with a cry unto the island’s cold shore,
His wrists and his ankles adorned in faint chains.
His fetters are cold with the breath of his chore.
His shackles hold greed in the blood of their veins.
If only he’d taken his father’s advice
To work and earn his station in life,
If only he’d chosen to remain satisfied,
He’d be living a life free of misery and strife.
But his pride had fanned the flames of his greed.
His arrogance seduced his counsel into folly.
His selfish streak had, his jealousy, freed.
And childish ambition had confiscated his body.
He reminisced on a time when he was guaranteed safety.
He wept for the morbid assurance of his death.
He yearned to return to his good father’s fealty.
He grieved the impending last gust of his breath.
The sun’s smile now bred seamless dejection.
The wind mocked his flesh with its murderous ploy.
The earth shook its head at his waning vision.
But the hoodwinking island embraced the merchant’s boy.
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