Mountain Homes

By: Herenicus Posted on: June 30, 2014

My mountain home, a heart of stone,

Where happy slaves, arrayed in chains,

But flesh and fears, mere beasts with brains,

All captives in a cage of bone.

A slaver led me hitherto,

And warmly bid me stop and stay,

And so the night became the day,

In truth, this rest was overdue.

By native eyes we were bespied,

With slavish curiosity,

I wondered you, you wondered me,

As slaves will entertain with pride.

Our childlike amusement grew,

And so we leered between our bars,

Admiring one another's scars,

From safely distant points of view.

Without a mind for noble toil,

You set for me an easy yoke,

Succeed or die, my master spoke,

With soiled hands I handled soil.

The loamy smell of flinty earth,

My shovelfuls revealed the grave,

Awaiting some benighted slave,

Who might, instead, have proved some worth.

"But never me!" I laughed and said,

Then donned my undertaking shirt,

And flung untold amounts of dirt,

In vanity and growing dread.