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Abeed Al-Biet

Terror’s teeth lunges for the leather whip that cracks the tense and shackled light.

We’ve enough of that, screeches the slave. Feared enough, roars the wounded slave. Pity, you’re caged by your own foul tongue, captured by your will to stir darkness, spent of courage that would mock a fair beast sending what’s been dead for what hasn’t lived.

What should we do with you, cries the slave. When shall we begin, shouts the bold slave. What shall we do with my fear, shrieks the master!

Terror’s teeth pierces the sheath that houses the whip and sets free its trembling.


© 2008 mrp/tpm
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Comments

  1. handmaidenNovember 20, 2008 at 5:12 PM

    Great poem.
    I'm so sick of war mongers!

    handmaiden aka concerned citizen

    ReplyDelete
  2. mandtNovember 21, 2008 at 10:18 AM

    Forever slouching toward Bethlehem----well done poet!

    ReplyDelete
  3. thepoetrymanNovember 22, 2008 at 9:00 PM

    handmaiden,
    "Sick" might well be an underwordment...

    ReplyDelete
  4. thepoetrymanNovember 22, 2008 at 9:01 PM

    MandT thank you and if we're lucky we will slouch less and begin walking upright as the good Darwin spake.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Pagan SphinxDecember 2, 2008 at 5:15 PM

    This is a really good one, PM. I think you should include it in the next volume. :-)

    ReplyDelete
  6. thepoetrymanDecember 11, 2008 at 9:03 PM

    In that case...I will be sure to include it.

    ReplyDelete

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