The Executioner
Pushed off a cliff,
Down a flight of stairs,
Lying shattered,choking,
In a pool of my own blood.
Defiled and degraded,
Knowing nothing of myself,
Other than my name.
I lay on the cold marble floor.
Absurdly,I thought that I,
Had achieved a state of grace.
Though trampled and gasping,
For I had obeyed my vows.
I castrated myself for my other.
Even sending him other women,
When my maturing femaleness,
Was not ripe enough for his seed.
A quarter of my life was spent,
Not in a blessed union,
But in self imposed imprisonment.
This man was my warden.
Kept confined by his passions,
Illusions,and masterful cruelty.
I had turned the key in the padlock,
And would never use it to flee.
My fate was sealed.
First by my wounds,
Then by the executioner.
Who would be called me.
Copyright © Brenda Atry | Year Posted 2011
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