When Midas dreamed, drunk, he saw all, splayed out
Before him, sempiternal currency.
Awaked, that king found all that he did doubt
In touch, turned certitude that drink could see.
"Its worth" he cries "outstrips the very sun.
Now quick, to market, change what has been changed
to gold to feast and wine." The servants run.
He daydreams worlds of hogsheads; worlds remade.
When Midas sits to feast, the world looks on.
He reaches. In his chalice, blood of vine
Age-old, in splendor, touched, shines like the dawn.
"My world as gold, my life is no more mine,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain."
He drinks the end to dreams - so gilds his frame.
Author notes
"Avarice the root of evil is"
A contest entry
- a reeeeeaaally interesting contest *raises eyebrows* by risewiththesmoke.
300 points, ended March 1, 2007, 13 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
really, really great wording and rhythm. thanks for entering!!
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