The Starved Man

The starved man,
His thirst now quenched,
Adjusts the worn and torn rags he wears, 
And with a sigh begins his long journey,
Across the scorching sand dunes. 
His feet burning raw with every step,
In hopes of reaching the famed apple tree, 
Which grew on the other side of the vast desert. 

He trudges for hundreds of miles,
Determined to ease his hunger,  
Underneath the hot desert sun,
Whose light burns through the air,
And sizzles upon the starved man’s cracked skin,
All for a piece of delicious apple. 

And when the man sees the tree,
On the edge of the horizon,
He begins running with a fervor.
And with a newfound tenacity,
Pulls himself away from Death’s grasp,
Thanking the Lord he worships. 

He arrives at the massive tree,
Which must be taller than the Heavens, 
Exhausted and broken, 
But grateful nonetheless, 
He reaches the lowest branch on the tree,
And picks for himself the largest and reddest apple in sight,
Ready to finally satiate his hunger,
Only to discover his thirst. 
And so,
The parched man,
His hunger now eased,
Adjusts the worn and torn rags he wears, 
And with a sigh begins his long journey,
Across the scorching sand dunes, 
His feet burning raw with every step,
In hopes of reaching the famed watering hole,
Which remained on the other side of the vast desert.