Crossed, then crossed again.
A martyrdom of the cause,
Cutting one’s losses.
Levied until sopped dry.

Kept, cornered.
Closed inside
A dark, smelly room,

At once a prostitute
Of yearning and desperation.
Caught, sought,
Always, without mercy.

A deception.
Through a tunnel,
Without an entrance,
Or an end.

Underneath the inertia
Of a spinning mound
Of rotting souls.

Author: Gordon S. Bowman III

Writer, Visual Artist, Blogger, Advocate

2 thoughts on “Tamed”

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