Hunger
Growing, manifesting, enlarging as the minutes pass. Teeth mashing together, grinding back and forth, licking its lips voraciously, eyes keening in for a meal, done letting time circle around, done chasing it down like a dog chases its tail.
It's ready.
Done playing around, done waiting for you to make your move, play your pawn, finish your turn. It's a monster, it's a goon, grumbling and roaring like a diversely maned lion, looting your short-term memories, leaving behind a cloudiness, leaving you dazed and clueless, for it drains you of your energy, of your buoyant and sunny mood.
It's ready.
Mouth open, hair tingling, feet dancing, jiving in a blithesome-hearted manner, for it sees the path to take, the move to make, the way to end this useless skirmish, this wasteful battle. It grabs away, acquisitively purloining your appetite, while growing minuscule as you plunge into your food and munch away, at an indefatigable pace.
Now It's done.
But it will come back, emerge from the shadows and grow like a weed, fast and furiously regaining its hold, its control over you, for like a charm, it will trance you, cause your eyes to gaze away, stunned, and arms lay out, like a zombie.
And it will rise.
Rise like an eagle, soaring above your hopes and desires, making itself first on your to-do list. Gliding you away, far from your soul, from your percipient choices and inquisitive moves. And it will keep itself tucked away, like a python in the open ground, but it still constrains you, dampers your evocatively brushed eyes, your unfeigned beam, and your superficially inextinguishable body language.
Copyright © Sam Allen | Year Posted 2017
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