March 10, 2010
By primevalrealm SILVER, Clifton, New Jersey
primevalrealm SILVER, Clifton, New Jersey
6 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
"Someone must have been telling lies about Josef K..."

I recall those early
Days now long since passed,
When I was quite surely
Not yet so aghast
At the malice of life which takes hold all too fast.

Oh, those pleasanter times,
When a man’s heart knew
Still of the joyful rhymes
Of good life, soaked through
With the love of family made ever anew!

And his intellect was
Not yet impinged by
That unremitting buzz
Of hunger, which my
Body tells me is approaching ever nigh.

Yes; when I could freely
Write to give release
To my thoughts and really
Set my mind at ease,
Then were my intellect and purse truly appeased!

But, alas! All good must,
It seems, come to end;
And all too soon toward dust
Did my fortunes bend,
Ev’n before I could perceive, and make to defend.

At first, perplexity
Only could I sense,
As wild complexity
Madly had commenced
In a proper whirlwind, from which I had no defense.

I had never been used
To desolation,
Nor to being abused
By deprivation,
Like a lost pup in most sudden isolation.

Everywhere is grimness,
Everything bleakness;
And the streets bear witness
Now to my weakness
As I take to their comforts in feeble meekness.

And what a wretched state
In which I am now
Confined, so that I hate
All, and ponder how
I might surmount the grief with which I am endowed!

I traverse the dank streets
And think of my prose
Which, since imperfect, needs
Not be got by those
Who in laps of finer literatures repose.

But my clothing is poor,
Rags such as cannot
Shelter me anymore
From Winter’s cold lot,
Leaving my sweats icy, and my fevers quite hot.

Hunger has become my
Chief inspiration,
Churning my stomach high
In appetition,
And with lunacy taking hold through starvation.

I no longer can tell
The day from the night
As I grapple with Hell
In my waning might,
Delusional as in an opium-induced fright.

But of late, more and more
My bedlam becomes
Focused, and I abhor
Life; I am benumbed
With fury at the thought of my life’s work o’ercome!

How unnerving it is
To think that all we
Strive towards, by whisk of His
Hand, may swiftly be
Extinguished; oh, hope brought to end so suddenly!

And so I ask, again
And again: “Just what
Have I done that my pen
Must dry, with me but
Left for the wolves, like the dried carcass of some mutt?”

This I beg, over and
Over, yet always
To no avail. Now wan,
I but sit and gaze,
Resolved to abandon Him in all of my praise.

For I must needs wonder:
What fine Creator
Would watch His son blunder?
I am no traitor,
And ‘til now did not question this Great Dictator.

And so now at long last
I stand here alone,
Embittered by the past,
Without food or home,
And do indignantly declare on His jeweled throne:

“In the presence of the
Angels, I hereby
Curse my Lord Almighty,
And shall Him defy
Even as my hour of death approaches nigh;

For I have been cast off.
And in solution,
I henceforth proudly scoff
At this ‘Redemption,’
And willn’t have my Holy Father’s persecution!”

The author's comments:
In form, this is an (attempted) imitation of Percey Bysshe Shelly's seminal, 21-stanza masterpiece "To a Sky-Lark." The content is based on the novel "Hunger" by Knut Hamsun.

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