Emma Gregory Poet I do not know?

Do What You Like

Weave through your fingers
The binding, holding rope
Play, caress and twist that rope
Play, caress and twist it.

Tie my wrists together, friend.
I will not move,
I will not bend,
I will not strive, 
Escape or blame, complain,
So tie my wrists together.

Mock the eyes that stare so bleak,
That are so blank, and frank,
Without a care, not soft
Or subtle, or warm…
And you know they were.
You know they burned.

You hold me to your whims, my friend.
I won’t react,
I won’t be cracked,
But do your worst, your best, my friend,
You tied me tightly captive.

I will not move for you,
I will not cry for you,
I will not dance, and prance, and try for you,
My wrists are bound and held in place,
But I’ll not move
E’en if you mock, e’en if you toy,
E’en if you tempt,
Or play coy.
For the binding, holding rope, it blinds,
And moulds, and holds me.

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L'Nass Shango May 27, 2009 at 7:56 AM Metaphorically I could see the submitted Christ ... beyond that the personal realm invites exciting ambiguities perfect under the license of poetry. Love and courage

Emma Gregory May 23, 2009 at 5:17 PM haha!! I'd never thought of it like that before! oh blimey that's a bit bad! ok, I promise it was never meant like that... it's all metaphorical. a psychological battle, as it were. But thanks very much! and thanks for pointing it out!!

Brandy Megens May 23, 2009 at 5:10 PM DONT BE OFFENDED BUT THIS COULD BE TAKEN IN MANY DIFFERENT CONTEX I LOVE YOUR OPENNESS AND YOUR IMAGINATION NICE TO READ YOUR POEMS GREAT WRITE