Well, three posts in a row past midnight...

The English poem was... mildly successful. Classmates noticed that I had taken very little time to edit the poem, but they seemed to think it was well written and had a strong point. Because I read it aloud, they didn't have the benefit of re-reading anything, so that was a bit of a disadvantage.

My teacher said it was "well written, but you just keep pushing that line." Somehow it pushed the line. I thought writing was a convention where we can push the limits, let our imaginations run rampant, and go with whatever our chi flow dictates. Apparently not in high school.

I figured I'd copy the poem back down again so I don't lose track of what I'm talking about... it is rather late and although I tend to write personal things better at night, the clarity of my memory in the morning is more debateable.


A Special Snack

On a frigid, frosty day,
I decided to treat myself to a restaurant meal,
Something new, something exotic,
Something unusual with great appeal.

Walking down the street,
Something snared my sniffing sense,
It was foreign, fresh, friendly,
For it I would pay any expense.

I sidled through the door,
Found myself in a fantasy land,
Plush scarlet seats inviting amongst the
Well adorned walls, it was all so very grand.

Soon a waiter approached,
Ushered me in, prepared my table,
Presented a menu, and stood back,
Ready, waiting, and apparently very able.

As I turned my head,
Unable to choose, I asked him what
He thought was particularly good,
For in that menu nothing seemed to make my cut.

“The truth of it is,”
He leaned in close, “the exotic smell,
That which brought you in, it’s of something new,
It’s most unique, most tasty too.”

Before I could interrupt,
“It’s also fresh, dead less than a week,
That’s fresher than the steak you eat
Over at your steakhouse - which reeks.”

I was disgusted at that,
My steakhouse was the best!
On he went, “You need to open your mind,
Prepare for what I say, I don’t jest.”

“I’m hungry!” I poured,
“It’s human!” was his voluminous roar,
I was quite taken aback, yet he proceeded,
“Will you try, it? I think its taste, you will adore.”

As he posed the question,
I wondered, “Who did this dirty deed?”
Yet before I could refuse, to eat this
Human flesh, I had agreed.

“What should be first?”
He asked the air, quick came my reply,
“It’s cold outside, I’m chilled deep down,”
And soon he brought a stew for me to try.

It warmed me up,
The broth was clear, I could swear I saw
Movements deep within, but I was blinded
By my hunger, and the taste left me in awe.

The meat was tender,
Succulent and sweet and moist,
It must have been a well-traveled human,
For muscles to be so full yet juicy.

Next arrived a dish announced
As “creamed calves,” the taste bright
And full, it left me yearning, ready for more,
Feeling as though I could run through the night.

This had to be youth,
Muscles so sprightly and clean,
Not marbled, not marred, not tough,
Not fatty, but very much lean.

A demonic purple sausage
Next was plated before me, I asked not for
The contents’ names, I merely wished to enjoy
The many mini flavors of what was before me.

The sausage took some time,
Well, to get over the lurch and take a bite,
But soon I did, hunger my motivation,
And I felt myself bolstered, and mighty.

Attuned to the taste of human,
I prepared myself for the next course,
Angry when a tiny plate was set before me,
I looked at its bare surface with great remorse.

“For dessert we have
A special thing, tendon torte, prepared
So specially, the lithe parts softened
Until smoother than cream, indeed.”

On my little dish
Appeared a tiny torte, and I wolfed it down,
The flavor so intense, the feeling so warm,
I was the king; this dish was my crown.

The tendon rounded
The meal so very perfectly,
The binding which holds humans together
Was the binding which finished my meal accordantly.

Yet suddenly I felt as Xerxes,
I realized how false my move had been,
And as my stomach groaned and sighed,
The food was destroying me from within.

The pressure built,
I was about to burst! Kaboom! It would go,
I felt surely it must, the pressure in me,
It just kept growing, when would it stop? I didn’t know.

Suddenly the pressure subsided,
And I was wracked with images awful,
Death, destruction, poverty, starvation,
The faces of people, not one of them beautiful.

Fires burned,
Homes were destroyed, children cried,
The world itself weeped as it broke from within,
As the people who loved it, died.

The citizens of development
They, we, just sat back, oblivious, uncaring,
Wrapped up in a materialistic world,
Ignorant of the struggles that make life worth living.

I slipped back in space,
Was caught by an arm, that of my
Ever-ready waiter, he sneered at me,
As if he was waiting for sickness to pass by.

I gathered myself,
And made for the door, a changed man I surely was,
and as I walked out, he posed a thought for me,
“Here, here we hope to never see you again.”