by Ronald W. Hull
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Rated "G" by the Author.
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Photo by Bruce Boullineau
People are changing the lifestyles they were accustomed. So, based on inspiration by Michelle Mead and Richard Lloyd Cederburg, I've changed my style this week.
He was ensconced in a fashion he was accustomed.
Four bare walls of stone. No light. No water except
the slimy seepage creeping down the walls.
A pot for his excrement. A daily plate of gruel in
exchange for the pot, so foul and full of maggots
that he relished their protein.
He could not remember how long he was so accustomed.
He only remembered, his thoughts, his schemes, dreams.
His thoughts of relativity, drama, great art, and mathematics.
They filled his days with wonder and his nights with passion.
For the lord who put him there was a stupid, greedy little oaf,
who knew only to procreate, eat, beat and fight, and fear
that the world around him was going to take away his dear.
And take away they did, like countless greedy before,
a short, brutal life of terror and war, of no consequence.
But he came forth hence, forgotten in the dark, no pretense.
Each day richer than the day before. A semaphore.
Of tropical volcanoes and black beaches under blue sky.
Of verdant farmland reaching to mountains of snowy peak,
and blue sky fading into black filled with stars and wonder.
He thought not of plunder or pillage but of them and her.
Of the wonders he could wrought with the anvil of his mind.
A science left behind where men would fly and discover,
the innards of the Earth and all that play upon the land
in his hand as though it were only yesterday he held them.
He became so accustomed that he felt nothing of fear.
Year after year his mind grew until it was overflowing with mirth,
with no place to put it down except with scratches on the stone.
His wealth had grown until his time had come, when, one by one,
his faculties failed, but not his worth, and he became one,
with the space he occupied, merely bone and hide.
When they excavated his little cell they found his work upon the wall.
That one mind could so enthrall amazed them one and all.
And with these scratches soon deciphered saved them from the fall.
Copyright 2009 © Ronald W. Hull
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|Reviewed by Regis Auffray
|This is indeed different but very meaningful, Ron. Thank you for sharing. Love and peace to you,
|Reviewed by richard cederberg
|Yah, a departure for you, but so intriguing a story.
That first stanza creeped me out Ron. Yikes! Gruel, maggots, shit-pots, ughhh, reminded me of The Count of Monte Cristo.
And you're so correct, no matter what our afflictions, or challenges, or trials, we have to finish our course in this ole world. Never know how it will affect those generations coming. Those buttheads will probably make all the money on our books. Incidentally bubba my name is spelled Cederberg. Yawza!
Blessings friend, and thanks ...
|Reviewed by Karen Palumbo
|Indepth and profound, perhaps to the legacy of mankind as a whole, lessons learned, lessons yet to be learned...
Be always safe,
|Reviewed by J'nia Fowler
|Excellent. Shows that there is no prison powerful enough to annihilate the strength of a genius mind. It is just too powerful. Blessings, J'nia|
|Reviewed by Tinka Boukes
|Different for you...but very well written Ron!~!
|Reviewed by Jon Willey
|the truth will out Ron -- if only humanity were intelligent enough to learn from our past mistakes -- to see the value of each in the giant puzzle that is existence -- this is a very philosophical write -- very enjoyable my friend -- peace and love-- Jon Michael|
|Reviewed by Ed Matlack
|This one is different for you, but it still in all says so much of one persons life long battle for long life till finally he burns out...e|
|Reviewed by Mary Lacey, Desertrat
a most interesting write, a man unjustedly thrown in prison and the truth didn't come out until the end. enjoyed reading.