Swirling sands surround the sacred sunken sphinx -
Sheridan searches, swiftly seeking -
shaking, his stomach sinks -
stepping o'er stones and strafing spears and suffocants.
Poisons embroided in traps, poised to destroy and attack
he who dares brave the cloister of Sassus.
He narrowly dodges as a pressure plate deploys and collapses.
The noise is shrill,
dust spreads in the space of void and attracts its scuttling scorpions,
stingers like swords as he passes -
one final leap as hands and hoists up from the chasm.
There, he spies a golden passage,
filled with trophies, carved and olden, of Sassus.
The last remnants of the Pharaoh Ancient.
He gasps in reverence of everlasting resplendence
but tempted he is not, none had captured his senses -
he looks to the room's center
where the light meets in a beam brighter than the rapture of heavens.
A lamp, golden, not encrusted in jewels
but somehow he knew just what to do -
no feelings of fear, drapes his hands over the lamp
rubbing slowly, stands in a trance as a genie appears
"You, man, shall I grant thee a wish?
You summoned me, so please, may your needs be delicious.
A thousands years I've waited - I expect you shan't disappoint me with contrition."
He gathered his wit, overwhelmed with the prospect
he mulled over ideas and developed his concept
the wish to be made, the choice for which he had gone through hell and had dodged death.
Power? No. Too simple and trite!
The genie expects creativity!
Perhaps to be nimble and light and with a mere whim achieve flight?
Closer, perhaps, but still just isn't quite right.
He'd always wanted to sing and to speak with eloquence
for in the street they'd feel the heat of his relevance
to know so astutely as for him his speech was pure excellence.
That's it! So it shall be.
"I wish that all that came from my mouth'd be pure gold! Flowing from within, as fine as the seas!"
The genie sighed and retrieved some die from his sleeve
threw them to the ground "3 - 6 - 9 - and fourteen!"
He smiled and forth leaned - "Your wish is my command. You shall see it be - In the morning, when your sleep's released.
He thanked the genie, ecstatic at the chance
He'd woo all the ladies and eas'ly shag them, the ones he fancied
Weaving words in perfect sense, sentences fit to leave them smitten.
He arrived home, fell asleep with visions of the ease with which he'd
achieve and have risen through the cleanest of diction.
He awoke but what he'd been granted wasn't what he had envisioned.
He took a breath, exhaled and coins fell from 'tween his teeth in collisions
clanking of coin as they dropped beneath him. He'd risen,
he tried to speak but only produced the sound of change,
falling from his maw to the ground like rain.
Pitter patter, he was excited! He'd be rich! Gold pouring when he breathed and spit
His greed was lit like a candle in a seething pit
But lo', he could hardly even eat, nor read or sit
without coins filling up the very room - he never dreamed of this!
Worse yet, at night when he went to sleep his lips continued to pour out the gleaming bits.
He was forced to sleep on the edge of a cliff by the side of the castle
sleeplessness gripped as feared he'd fall from on high and faster
Torture - never ceasing
The villagers followed Sheridan and ridiculed him allthewhile they grabbed coins from where he'd tread
unberable dread, this terrible stead, wished only this miracle shed
The villagers soon became greedy, they plotted and planned
until one day the sprung and caught him out in the lands
bound and tied were his hands, spewing still coins, the sound like chimes to their hands
they sliced his body open to the sound of his screams
flesh torn fresh from limbs from his mouth to his feet
They pulled apart his organs, searching for the coins he'd hidden
but as he died they fell no longer.
Stone dead he laid, they became so livid!
They burnt him at the stake for such heresy
that he and his cavities contained no coins
Thus ends the tale of Sheridan and the wish that destroyed him.