A Poem On Thievery

The sound of sticks on hollow logs,

Cause panics in my mind.

The tribes are speaking through the fog,

They seek this crook to find.

The artifact I stole this night,

Was theirs they revered dear.

Yet I, the jungle crook took flight,

The tribes will soon draw near.

I slash my way through binding fronds,

Along the forest floor.

Macaws they cackle from beyond,

To me they do implore.

Drop everything and run dear sir,

The statue is not yours.

Its ruby eyes, gold face of cirrh,

Most certainly assures.

Until they find you they will seek,

Their poison darts they’ll blow.

A year, a month, a day, a week,

They’ll hunt me this I know.

A spider blocks the path I tread,

Goliath is its name.

It seeks to feed on birds instead,

I understand its game.

And yet I’m forced to change my path,

I must back track a bit.

The hollow sounds of tribal wrath,

The sounds they all have quit.

I know my time has shortened now,

They’re coming for me soon.

I must escape, escape somehow,

But canopies block the moon.

In darkness I must find it where,

The shoreline I must make.

The boat that I have waiting there,

Will bring me cross the lake.

While serpents slither at my feet,

The silence round me roars.

I hack and slash where vines they meet,

While leeches suck their gore.

I took their precious artifact,

I am a jungle crook.

Now tribes who seek to take it back,

Will claim that which I took.

If only I could free myself,

From forest dense and dark.

This statue I’ll put on my shelf,

As I tell of my lark.

I’ll soon have all the limelight,

And rich and wealthy be.

If I can reach the boat tonight,

With my antiquity.

And just as I break through the wall,

And almost end my quest.

I feel the darts of poison all,

against my legs and chest.

I am the jungle crook and when,

I gaze at it nearby.

My hands reach out to touch it then,

I close my eyes to die.

My head will soon a skull become,

A ghastly bone reminder.

For all the jungle crooks who come,

To steal from those much wiser.

Let’s keep in touch: paul@pgbarnett.com

Written by

A published author enjoying married Texas bliss. Dog person living with cats. A writer of Henry James' stories. Featured In MuckRack. Top Writer In Fiction.

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