Slave Girl

Thu, 08/13/2015 - 07:08 -- BRed

I am your slave-master,

The fists that beat down on your beauty

And the feet that stomps your face


I am your thunderous nightmare,

The past to which you are shackled

The sorrow that enshrouds you,




I am your poison and darkest passion

Behold your violation, tainted virtue and torn flesh

Your trampled confidence is what I live for,

Long for,



It is I who knows the secret to

Your freedom,

The liberation you beg for

and the key to your redemption.


While you are weak and afraid

I am your compass and puppeteer

Silence begs for a voice that will cry out


But Keep still my lady,

Think of me often…..

Bring your daily sacrifice of tears to the shrine of remembrance


My slave-girl

Be afraid

Be Mindful

Speak not

For your silence grows








© 2014 Beulah F Kleinveldt - All rights reserved

This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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