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  Home > Spirituality > Poetry
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. Oakling

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Member Since: Before 2003

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My Master
by . Oakling

Saturday, May 29, 2004
Rated "R" by the Author.
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Recent poems by . Oakling
•  Dismantlement of Desire
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           >> View all 50

I am the tethered beaten soul


That Grief cares nothing for


I’m chained and lashed and


Tortured so…till blood no longer pours


 


Waiting for the pain to stop


I leave my body behind


The master will come again soon


And Grief will consume my mind


 


I am the weary, lifeless creature


Enslaved by the master named Grief


In darkened corner I hug the stone wall


For its cold and callous relief


 


Here no creature small or wretched


Dare cross my shadow’s path


They know the destructive outcome of his


Miserable, intolerable wrath


 


I am the tethered beaten soul


That Grief cares nothing for


I am chained and lashed and


Tortured so...till blood no longer pours


 


Sleep will not even grace me with


Her gentle, somber reprieve


Nor Laughter with His jovial


Playful ways and games of tease


 


The master Grief has stripped me bare


Of all that once was me


And left a shell of nothingness


For the sake of hearing my plea


 


So Grief and I will linger here


Till one or the other breaks


Grief may be the master


But I hold the key to both our fates.


 


Oakling


May 29, 2004


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Reviewed by . ignis 3/5/2005
Extracted from the obvious view of personal experience, these words become greater than life. Projected onto humanity as a whole, the slave race we are, created for the conveinience of higher beings whose evil imagination matches the power of their minds, these words become greater than death. Less than eight years away from another encounter there is plenty of reason to fear. Yet death can free us from all that. I wonder where you've gone.

Rage
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