January 14, 2009
By Tori Gould, Solon, OH

Something dies in his eyes.
Ambition that only started as a bud
Grew to greed.
The creeping ivy that rapidly possessed
His limbs
His mind
His every waking moment
His eyes,
Until he became one with the forest floor.
But moving towards the neck of the dark ticket and sweep aside the virescent veil of verdue to see the sin.
The turpid river cut through the blanket of rotting moss,
Weathered calloused hands penetrated the water’s surface.
Grasping for gems, sifting through silt
Swamp smeared on their weary bodies
Drained of vitality, fueled his avarice.
The reflection of the gems
Reflected the glint of malice in those
Eyes once emerlands.
Eyes now dead.

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