Prostate on the fetid jungle floor,
Draped in the red and orange ornamental cotton robes of a monk
He lay mesmerized by the tablets shambolic scribble.
What could this possibly mean?
Hands shaking as he held the tablet, deep down he knew.
Though menacing, with his henna facial markings,
He had an uneasy feeling that he could not diffuse.
Fraught with fear, he reached for his decanter of Holy Water,
Thinking he could protect himself from this Pagan curse..
Chanting, the lowly monk prayed that the grace of his God would save him,
But alas, the synthesis of prayer and paraphernalia could not shield his mortal soul.
Gasping his last breath and with devotion still in his failing heart
The lowly monk rose with tablet raised overhead and struck,
Shattering the curse over a rock that lay before him,
Praying that the tablets curse with him would die
Never to plague mankind again.
~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~
This paints an amazing story.
Thank you Charles, I enjoyed writing this piece and it didn’t quite turn out how I expected, but I like how it turned out none-the-less. 🙂
Very interesting. I like this. 🙂
Thank you Kimberly, I found it a little bizarre as it turned out to be more a piece of micro-fiction than a poem, but hey…it just shows that anything can happen. 🙂
This is intriguing, it could e part of a film script!
I suppose that it could, I am finding that my mind is working in more and more mysterious ways all the time. Thank you Gilly 🙂
Excellent story Dom, you have used the words so very well and created a very powerful story, enjoyed it.
Thank you very much, it rather did turn out to be more of a story than a poem, but I enjoyed writing it either way. 🙂