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Ancient Artifact
for entertainment
they placed you on a chain,
tight enough you could feel the metal with every breath.
pepper
shoved up your nose until it bled
when everything took too much effort.
iron pokers
ripped gaping wounds into your flesh
as your rumbling growl died down.
they reveled in the blood you spilled
while struggling to survive and
booed once the fight came to an end.
for entertainment
they baited you with cruelty and scorn
until the chain was all you'd known,
until escape was down the barrel of a shotgun.
Sometimes I think I'll go crazy.
At times, my world feels kinda hazy.
But it's fine, I'm ok.
So long as I don't look at this cruel display.
What's wrong with me?
Am I not the way you'd thought I'd be?
Am I doing something wrong?
Was I not smart enough? Not strong?
I really try to be nice,
Yet sometimes you're cold as ice.
You're sending me mixed intelligence,
And it seems to me we've got no resonance.
What to do? What to say?
Do I leave? Should I stay?
Leave you be, or stick around?
Turn tail and flee, or stand my ground?
The weight of my sadness pulls on my heart
the iron chains of my thoughts restrain me to my hatred
every movement feels like carrying the earth on my fingertips
it drains me of all hope and light
leaving only the shell of what once was a happy little girl
skipping through feels of cotton
now passing through different levels of hell
only to find that what she had been searching for was hers all along
the draught of her mind makes the painting dry up
and makes the summer leaves shrivel and die
only to be crunched by the crushing weight of a human
like a wave of anger
and what will be a board to float on
if only the universe would grant it
I love you,
He whispered as the chains broke my wrists.
Your voice keeps ringing down the day
In accents soft and mild,
With which you have beguiled
And wooed me as a child.
Your presence bounds my every way
And thrills me in its fold
With phantom hands that hold
Like cherished chains of gold.
I watched the men at work on the stubborn rock,
But mostly the one man poised on a drill
Above the steam that hissed and billowed about him
White in the frosty air,
Where the lordly house would stand.
Majestic, muscular, high like a god,
He stood,
And controlled and stopped
And started his thundering drill,
Offhand and careless and lordly as Thor,
Begrimed and solemn and crowned with sweat,
Where the great steel chains swung over the buckets of rock.
Then out of a nearby house came a youth,
All gloved and encased in fur and touched with content,
Thin-shouldered and frail and finished,
Leading a house-dog out on a silver chain.