King
You were my King and upon a throne you sat
Spiked whip in your hand ready for lashing at only my thoughts
Like a King I treated you
Like a Slave I was treated
You found pleasure in my pain
Worry you not;
I find strength in my lashing and beatings
Then one day, one strike too far
I ripped the shackles from my feet and free I was
Free of your demands
Your whip still lashes out for me
Just breathes from touching my skin
Still on a thrown you sit, alone
I dance circles around your misery in my freedom
Now tell me, why do I crave your lashing whip again?
Copyright © Logan Holliday | Year Posted 2015
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment